


Fool's Errand

by smithandrogers



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (Blood and Gore in Chapter Six), Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Idk how good of smut but there is now smut, Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Tags Update as We Go, did you want a novel? because here is a novel, now we start telling canon to shove off
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-03-29 23:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19029730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithandrogers/pseuds/smithandrogers
Summary: Dumped in the middle of nowhere and sent on a mission to find a treasure that has been lost for hundreds of years as punishment, Elaine isn't having the best time. That is, until she finds herself getting into trouble with the local outlaws: the Van der Linde gang.





	1. The Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> While this will start out true to canon, it will eventually diverge. Everyone will get the fates they deserved, not the one's they got. Elaine is my OC from an original story. I will update the tags as we go, because I want some things to be a surprise. Comments are always appreciated, as I am always looking to improve your experience with this fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in Valentine, Elaine is looking for a way to get to Strawberry. She finds trouble instead.

The sun shone in through the windows of Smithfield's Saloon. I sat at the bar for what was the sixth day in a row, contemplating all the mistakes in my life that had brought me to this point. Glowering at the liquor shelf, I listened to the din of the saloon and the dozen conversations that filled the space. It made me feel terribly isolated. I hated it here. “Excuse me, miss?”

  
The grip on my bottle tightened. “Yes?” I said, not looking at the speaker, but trying to sound as pleasant as possible.

  
“Are… you are Ms. North, correct? My associates and I saw your posting at the sheriff’s office.”

  
He had a pleasant, polite voice and as I turned to face him, I found myself a bit taken aback. An older gentleman with a kind smile stood there flanked by two younger men. The one had shaggy black hair and stitched up slashes across his face, and the other was tall and broad with the prettiest blue-green eyes. Don’t be stupid, I told myself, don’t be stupid. “And you are…?”

  
The older gentleman held out his hand for me to shake. “Albert Smith. This is my nephew, Jim, and my son, Markus. We were looking for work and saw your posting. The boys are used to farm chores but they’re strong and I’m sure they are up to whatever work you need done.”

  
The two men nodded, the one with the slashes smiling confidently, the other remaining stone-faced. The corner of my mouth twitched as I fought a smile. The tall one had been in here a few days ago and had gotten into a brawl. His name was not Markus, it was Andrew or something; his friends had been calling it out during the fight. He had nearly beat a man to death in the street. There was also the matter that farm boys didn’t wear bandoliers or carried an engraved Schofield revolver on either hip. They could’ve been showing off, but there was an ease with which they moved with them on that pointed more towards the idea that the pistols were a staple of their outfit. I looked them over, taking in the scene, thinking about how smooth and urging the old man’s voice was. So overly polite in this town of rough cow folk, who had spent the entire week trying to proposition me. His smile was soft, but his eyes… he had the eyes of a snake, always planning a couple steps ahead, relying on his kindly manner to make him seem trustworthy. He was a conman, and the other two, at least the tall one anyway, were his muscle. I felt almost flattered that someone might go through all this effort just to rob me. “Try again.” I said.

  
His eye twitched but he made no other reaction. He was a professional. “Excuse me?”

  
“I have spent the entire week speaking to farmers with delusions of grandeur. Don’t you have something more interesting in your bag of tricks?”

  
I sat up straight and crossed my legs looking at him expectantly. The scarred one’s confident smile had faded but the tall one’s resolve remained. “I’m not sure…”

  
“Oh, please, do not try and continue the charade, you will only insult me.” I flashed a coy smile, “You boys should dress down a little if you want to be posing as some innocent farm hands.”

  
“I’ll admit,” The old man said, leaning against the bar, “It wasn’t my best. Not original enough, I suppose.” He looked me over, “Should’ve known anyone who signed a job posting with a title would want something a little more impressive.”

  
I shrugged. “I thought it would garner some respect, but it apparently just got them thinking that they are going to get some easy money taking care of some sweet maid who just wants a strong man to drive her fancy stagecoach to the city. Impress me, cowboy. Make me want to trust you.”

  
“Do you need someone to drive your coach for you? The posting did leave quite a bit to the imagination.”

  
“Well, ‘Noblewoman seeks reliable muscle willing to risk life and limb’ seemed a bit beyond the comprehension of the folk in this town.”

  
“You’ve found yourself in some trouble then?”

  
“Oh, no.” I flashed him a smile, “I’m looking to find some.”

  
I watched them move, wondering if I was really willing to hire a conman and his violent friends. I had never been able to resist the lure of excitement, and they were by far the politest gentlemen I had met so far but was I that desperate to get out of here? I glanced around the saloon. Yes. Yes, I was that desperate. He sat down in the seat next to me. The tall one sat down on my other side and the scarred one next to him. “How about wayward desperados? On the run from the law, looking for a little redemption for past dark deeds?”

  
I motioned to the bartender and he poured them all a drink. “Out to help a damsel in need? I think I could go for that. Are you honest men?” I turned to the tall one, “Or will you take my life and innocence as well as my money?”

  
That blue-green gaze held mine as he threw back the shot. “Whatever you’re willing to give.” He responded.

  
I held my tongue, reminding myself to be professional and not fall for such a provocative line, no matter how tempting it, or its speaker was. “So, what do I call these three desperados?” I asked, fighting the urge to lean towards the tall one.

  
“My name is Hosea Mathews, this is Arthur Morgan,” The tall one inclined his head to me, “And that is John Marston.”

  
“Mr. Mathews, I must say, were I a more trusting women, you would’ve had yourself a nice little take.”

  
He smiled and nodded. “Years of practice, but apparently I have chosen my mark poorly this time around.”

  
“I am a hard person to lie to, so you shouldn’t feel too bad.” I pulled a business card out of my vest pocket and handed to him, “Though if you still wanted to make some money through a little more effort…”

  
“We meant to rob you,” John said, “But you still want to hire us?”

  
“You don’t have to rob me to get the money.” I said as Hosea took the card from me.

  
“Just risk life and limb.” Arthur said.

  
“For fifteen hundred dollars.” The offer was out of my mouth before my brain could approve it.

  
They both looked at Hosea, who had taken the card and was examining it. “How much?”

  
“Fifteen hundred dollars to take me to Strawberry and back, that’s all.”

  
“Is that all?”

  
“I have little need for honest men who will run at the slightest sign of bad news. You gentlemen certainly look like you can handle a little trouble and then some.”

  
Better to hire a good gun who can’t be trusted, then a good man who can’t handle a gun in this situation. My brain was trying to back up this logic, trying to figure out how I would pay these men fifteen hundred dollars that I didn’t necessarily have if they accepted my offer. “You can’t be serious.”

  
“Mr. Mathews, I have been in this miserable town for five days no. In that time I have spoken to no less than fifty men. Half of them saw me sitting alone at this bar and thought that I was a prostitute. The other half were answering my posting. Every single one of those men were looking to rob me, whether it was because they thought I was some stupid spoiled woman who could be bullied into hiring them, or because they thought I should discount my services because I was not as pretty as they had originally thought.” I was half convincing him, half convincing myself that this was a good idea, “You are the first man to try and rob me respectfully and honestly, and I really need to get out of this town.”

  
He held my gaze, turning the business card over in his hand. “Anyone ever tell you that you are a peculiar woman, Ms. North?”

  
“I have a peculiar profession; it comes with the territory.”

  
“Mmm, yes,” He mused aloud, “Acquisitions expert is a peculiar profession for a woman.”

  
Hosea breathed deeply and looked to Arthur and John “Excuse us a moment.”

  
He turned away and the other two huddled in close, whispering. Hosea was saying something that didn’t seem to sit well with either John nor Arthur, but they eventually gave in to whatever the old man was scheming. Upon their agreement, he spun back around to face me. “We’ll need to discuss this with our associates back at our camp. We will come find you tomorrow with our answer. In the meantime,” he put an arm around John’s shoulders, “Son, why don’t you keep the lovely lady company? Make sure she doesn’t have to deal with any rabble this evening?”

  
Arthur snorted as Hosea pushed John forward. “Uh… sure,” he said, sounding a bit unsure.

  
I caught his gaze and smiled, trying not to think of how I would’ve preferred Arthur’s blue-eyed company, “I could use some real conversation. Goodnight gentlemen, you can inquire at the hotel, or if I’m not there, I’ll be at the livery.”

  
They tipped their hats and left, pushing their way through the crowd and out into the evening. I planted my elbow on the bar and rested my chin in my hand, watching John take a seat next to me, knowing full well that Mr. Mathews had every hope of not seeing me tomorrow. “I don’t know if my company will be quite what you’re used to.” He said.

  
His voice was wonderfully raspy, and he had a delightfully charming smile. I knew exactly what the old man was up to; he meant to rob me by means of seduction. Had Hosea left Arthur behind, I might actually have been in trouble, but I felt like I could handle John. He seemed like the type I could make blush. “I just think it’s nice to spend time with someone who’s pretty like me.” I purred, tapping a finger against the line that slashed through my eyebrow.

  
I watched his eyes linger on the scar, following its course over my brow and onto my cheek, his gaze finally settling on my lips. Perfect, I had his attention. The more distracted he was by me, the less I had to worry about being distracted by him. “I’d say you’re a fair bit prettier than me, miss.”

  
“Call me Elaine.” I said, signaling the bartender.

  
It took a few drinks and some well said compliments to loosen him up, but soon enough John was telling me all sorts of stories. He told me about the wolves that slashed his face, and about his gang. “Hosea has to go talk to Dutch,” he explained, “You’re offering a lot of money, but Dutch makes all the big decisions.”

Dutch Van der Linde was the leader of their gang and Hosea Mathews was his long-time partner in crime. The stories of their adventures were intermingled with gentle hand grazes and polite compliments that I returned in kind. I was actually genuinely interested in the stories, though, and not just the way his hand was lingering on the small of my back. He told me more about Arthur and other members of the gang: Lenny and Bill and Javier. He talked about Mrs. Grimshaw, who ruled their camp with an iron fist. I felt more and more comfortable in my decision to throw in my lot with them the more he talked. They may have been thieves and killers, but there was mercy and respect among them, which would be to my advantage.

  
The night wore on and John’s hand was doing less lingering and more gripping. When I looked around the saloon, the patronage had changed. I frowned and pulled out my pocket watch. It was far later than I cared for. “I think…” I stood and took a deep breath, trying to clear the fuzz of intoxication from my head, “I think we should get out of here.”

  
“Sure!”

  
He stood too fast and teetered and I grabbed his arm steadying him. I paid the bartender and we stepped out into the cool night. I hadn’t realized how warm my cheeks had gotten until the chilled air kissed them. I hooked my arm through his and held him steady as we made our way down the street. “How are you liking Valentine?” he asked.

  
I paused, filtering my thoughts. “Its nice enough. You spend your time moving from city to city, you learn to enjoy the quiet simplicity of a small town.”

  
“You been to many cities?”

  
“New York, London, Cairo, Hong Kong.”

  
“Where’s Hong Kong?” he laughed, butchering the pronunciation.

  
“China.” I said, unable to stifle a giggle.

  
When was the last time I had giggled? I was slowly realizing that, just as I had been loosening John up for information, he had been doing the same to me. Here I was, hanging on his arm. I weighed my feelings on the idea and found that I enjoyed the company more than I cared about him trying to get me drunk. It had been a long time since I had been able to have fun. If he wanted to honeypot me, he could try all he wanted. We turned off the main street and began to walk along the fence of the auction house paddocks. “What can a city girl like you possibly like about a small cow town like this?”

  
I let go of his arm and walked over to lean back against the fence. “The stars.” I said, allowing myself a moment of open honesty.

  
He raised an eyebrow. “The stars?”

  
I leaned my head back and looked up at the sky. “Its too bright, too smoky. There’s too many buildings too close together for you to see any in the city.”

  
When I looked back at John, I found that he had closed the gap between us, now only inches away from pressing me up against the fence. My heart beat a little faster, excited to see how this was about to pan out. “You enjoy being under the open sky?” He said, leaning in closer.

  
His voice was delightfully low and rough. “Among other things.” I said, resting my hands against his chest.

  
And then his lips were against mine, tasting like booze, his hands gripping my waist as he ground his hips against mine, pinning me against the fence. He was really going for it, but I felt like he could do better. His fingers started to creep into the waistband of my trousers, his other hand entangling itself firmly in my hair as he trailed hot kisses along my jaw. “Now, now, Mr. Marston,” I said, unable to stop my breath from hitching as his teeth grazed my skin, “I’m sure this is very popular with among the ranchers’ daughters, but I am…”

  
“What,” He growled, against my neck, “You afraid of a little fun.”

  
He had his hand all the way in my pants now, grinding the heel of his hand against me, his fingers teasing. He muffled my gasp with his mouth, his tongue swirling around mine. I grabbed his wrist and he retracted his hand immediately. John Marston may have been trying to seduce me but at least he was being respectful about it. I placed his hand on my waist and tried to steady my breathing. Had this been a little different, had he just been a stranger... I pushed the thought away. No matter how much I would have loved a wild misspent night of passion, I was not about to let John Marston or Hosea Mathews have the satisfaction of beating me in this little game of ours. “I must give you credit, Mr. Marston,” I breathed, our noses brushing each other, “You are very close to having me get carried away.” I had him on the hook, and he thought I was on his, “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?”

  
I had said the magic words, and just as soon as I spoke them, his lips were against mine. I could only imagine the feeling of triumph he was experiencing. Boy, was he going to be disappointed when I turned around and robbed him for his efforts. A wolf-whistle cut through the quiet night. “Would you look at that boys.”  
John pulled away to glare at the party crashers. A little bit down the road, four mean leered at us, all wearing matching green bandanas around their necks. “Why don’t you mind your own business.” John called over the them.

  
They continued to advance, unperturbed and laughing. “And what if we don’t” The leader sneered, “That seems too pretty a lady for you, scar-face. I figure all we’re doin’ is savin’ her from a disappointing night.”

  
They were right in front of us now and John, ever devoted to his charade, had put himself between me and them. “What do you say, pretty lady?” The leader asked, posing jauntily and grabbing his belt buckle, “Wanna spend some time with a real man?”

  
And there it was: the nail in their coffins. I already knew that they would say something stupid, I would say some smartass remark in return. I, of course, would not allow Mr. Marston to suffer for my loudmouth, but I also would not be able to stop myself from being an idiot and getting into a fight. Why not, though? The past week had been very boring anyway. “Oh, sure,” I said with a smile, “Do you ladies know where I could find one?”

  
John let out a surprised laugh, glancing back at me, obviously not realizing how much I enjoyed picking fights with people twice my size. The lead man frowned. “Are you stupid or something?”

  
“No,” I said, stepping past John, “But you might be.”

  
The lead man drew the pistol from his belt. “I don’t think you’re getting’ our meanin’. You comin’ with us.” He looked at John and motioned with the pistol, “Beat it, Van der Linde trash.”

  
The rest of them all drew their pistols too and one stepped forward to grab my arm. I glanced over at John, who was bristling for a fight. “Damn O’Driscolls,” he hissed, “you boys always know how to ruin a good time.”

  
I took a deep breath and exhaled, pushing the weariness and the cloudiness of booze out of my head, planning out the next fifteen steps. Four men, four guns, all close quarters. They weren’t likely to fire without a clean shot, I told myself, disarm and keep them close. Fingers wrapped around my forearm. Another deep breath and time seemed to slow for a second as I stepped and turned. It sped back up as the owner of the hand on my arm received a sucker punch to the jaw. His pistol fell in the dirt and he stumbled back a couple steps into one of the other men. They all froze for a moment in shock, except for John, who tackled the lead man, sending his pistol off into the dark. It all blurred from there. I made my goal the other side of the road and made my way towards it. There was always an advantage to being smaller, faster and better trained. Up the road, the horses in the paddock outside of the livery were making noise and stomping their feet, spooked and riled up by the commotion. An idea popped into my head. I turned back to the fight, two attackers advancing, one pulling a knife from his boot. Just behind them, in the dirt, lay a discarded pistol. Just the kind of luck I needed. I readied myself, muscles tensed and whistled as loud as I could. My heart leapt as I heard a responding whinny from the direction of the paddock. The cavalry was on the way. Step one of escape complete. I dove forward towards the pistol, pushing past the two men, ignoring the bite of steel against my arm as the one landed a blow with the knife. It didn’t matter very much as my fingers wrapped around the pistol’s grip. I rolled over and fired, just barely remembering that I needed to pull back the hammer. Bang. Bang. Two less O’Driscolls. I got to my feet and the remaining two pulled away from John.

  
There was the sound of pounding hooves and down the road came Ontario, loyal as can be. He came up and nudged his nose against my back, puffing himself up and stomping his hooves. The O’Driscolls backed away from the large horse as I trained the pistol on them. In the distance there was shouting. The gunshots hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Get on.” I commanded.

  
John didn’t need to be told twice and mounted the horse obediently. “You gonna shoot or what?” demanded one of the men.

  
I glanced over to see people coming from town to investigate. “I am a moral and just person,” I said, “I will not take your lives unnecessarily.”

  
For some reason, they thought that was funny. “You stupid bitch.” They laughed.

  
Two loud gunshots drowned out their laughter and the two fell to the ground, shrieking. “Your knees are another matter.” I said, throwing away the pistol.

  
I turned and mounted behind John, and we took off. We fled away from town and I clung tightly to Marston, ignoring the pain in my arm. Ontario was a wide and large horse and I was a very small and short-legged person. The combination was not compatible with easy bareback riding. We didn’t slow until Valentine was out of sight. The adrenaline began to fade as the distant sound of the town gave way to the silence of the prairie. The degree of how fucked I was slowly dawned on me. I had assaulted two men and killed two more and was fleeing the scene with a wanted man on a horse that I would not be able to ride back on without a saddle. I was stuck with Marston, and that made me nervous.

  
I patted Ontario’s rump and he came to a halt, listening to me even though John was the controlling rider. I dismounted and the horse walked along with me, John still on his back. “You alright?”

  
The concern in his voice was touching, but I was too cautious to trust it. “I’m fine.” I said, taking a deep breath, trying to quiet my racing thoughts, “I just… I just don’t know what to do now.”

  
We kept moving and I inspected my arm in the week moonlight. The shirt was ruined and the vertical slash down my bicep ached and bled. I tore off the sleeve and tried to wrap the fabric around it to apply pressure. “Here,” John dismounted, “Let me help.”

  
I watched him tie off the fabric. He looked up, catching my gaze. “You’re pretty good in a fight, you know that?”

  
“Thank you. I wish I could say the same for you. Though, in your defense, I was the one who started it.”

  
“You ended it too.” He paused, then put his hand on my shoulder, “That… That wasn’t the first time you’ve killed a man… is it?”

  
The look in his eyes was mix of panic and worry. He feared the irrational tears of a hurting woman, as all smart men did. “No, Marston,” I assured him, “It was not.”  
“Oh, well…” His hand dropped awkwardly to his side, “Good… I guess. The world can use a couple less O’Driscolls.”

  
I looked around, trying to figure out what to do next, and saw only rocks and sparse grass. “I should…” I found myself failing to finish the sentence, “What should I do?”

  
I stepped away from John, instinctively starting to pace, as if the movement would somehow produce a solution for me. “You can’t go back to town.” John said, “You could always lie low with us for the night; head back in the morning.”

  
I stopped pacing and looked at him. Had I not known better, I would have guessed that this had been the plan all along, but Hosea Mathews seemed a smarter man than that. He seemed like a man who would know that it would be easier to rob me if they got themselves into my bed, not me into theirs. “I suppose I would owe you then, wouldn’t I?”

  
“Unless you’d like to camp out here; just the two of us?”

  
“That.” I said firmly, “Is a terrible idea.”

  
“You got any better ideas, then?”

  
I mulled over the thought of spending the evening at the camp of a gang of outlaws. A bed was always better than the ground, but there was the fact that once I knew where they were, they would not be inclined to let me leave. Wanted men were not inclined to entertain unexpected guests. I doubted they would trust me to keep my mouth shut and not notify the local authorities of their location. They had no reason to trust me, no matter how trustworthy I knew myself to be. “And how would that work? You would really just let me walk away in the morning as if I did not know a thing?”

  
The look on his face told me that he had not necessarily thought that far ahead. “Well, whatever your plans may be,” he said, making his way over towards Ontario, “I plan on not walking anywhere.”

  
“You are not stealing my horse!” I shouted, rushing forward as he mounted up.

  
“Then I guess you’re coming with me.”

  
There was a smugness in his voice that made my blood boil. I let him pull me up onto the horse behind him. “This is going to end badly.”

  
“It’ll be fine.”

  
After ten good minutes of stubborn silence on my part, we crossed the railroad tracks and came up to a thick grouping of trees. “I am going to sound like I’m repeating myself,” I said as he dismounted, “But this is a bad idea.”

  
I dropped to the ground and gave Ontario a reassuring pat on the neck before following John down a small path leading away from the main road. Beyond the foliage, the flicker of firelight was visible, and voices echoed unintelligibly. “It’ll be fine.” He assured me again.

  
As if on cue, there was the sound of someone cocking a rifle. “Who’s there?” someone demanded.

  
“It’s just John.”

  
“No, it ain’t.”

  
“Shut up, Bill.”

  
John kept moving forward, but I remained where I was, very aware of the rifle barrel leveled at my chest. Ontario bobbed his head and huffed, annoyed that we had stopped. I took a step back. “I’ll just go.” I said calmly, hands up.

  
“I think you should.”

  
The rifle motioned for me to turn around. I took another step back when someone stepped through the brush and swatted the barrel to the side. “Quit being an idiot!” they hissed at the rifle’s owner.

  
The person stepped forward and in the dim moonlight, I recognized Arthur. He froze as he saw me, eyes widening slightly, staring for a moment. “Marston!” He snapped, not looking away from me, “What did you do?”

  
“What is going on over here?”

  
A squad of lanterns approached, and I suddenly felt like a deer in headlights; frozen in panic. The illuminated face of the Van der Linde gang all staring out into the trees. “John!” came a shout from among them.

  
A girl rushed forward and gently cupped his face in her hands, gingerly touching the black eye that was blooming on the unscarred half of his face. “Are you all right?”

  
“I’m fine, Abigail.” He told her reassuringly.

  
I kept taking slow steps backwards. Every moment I spent there was a moment spent making this mess worse. “We got jumped by O’Driscolls.” John told the audience of his fellow gang members.

  
“We?” Demanded a tall, dark-haired man standing next to Hosea.

  
I had not yet been spotted by the majority of the camp. I needed to detangle myself from the situation immediately. Backing myself away as John continued to speak, I only half listened as he began to dig himself into a hole. He would no doubt get in trouble, and it would serve him right for threatening to steal my horse. I glanced over at Arthur and the one John had called ‘Bill’ one last time. Arthur must have seen the look in my eyes despite the dark because he moved as I did, lunging forward to grab my arm as I turned to sprint away. He missed and I took off at full tilt, pushing through the trees back towards the main road. Knowing that Ontario would follow me, I focused all my attention on running, ignoring the shouting behind me. I didn’t glance back until I was scrambling up the ravine towards the tracks. Two men chased after me, but I didn’t take the time to try and identify them. I knew that I could outrun them just as long as I could keep my feet under me.

  
There was something invigorating about running for my life through the prairie, where the only sounds to break the night were my pounding heart and the curses of the men behind me… and the sounds of hooves in the dirt. I faltered slightly and glanced back, knowing that it was not Ontario, just in time to see the rider toss the lasso. I wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge it. The rope cut into my arms, pinning them to my sides and I was yanked backwards. The air was forced from my lungs as I slammed into the ground, head smacking against the hard-packed dirt of the road. The world spun and little sparks danced in front of my vision as I fought the rope, trying to get up and catch my breath. I managed to slip the rope over my head and roll over onto my hands and knees, gasping.  
“Are you fucking stupid?” A voice demanded.

  
“Call me stupid one more time, I dare you.” Another replied. “You were gonna chase her all the way back to Valentine, were you?”

  
“I would’ve caught her.”

  
There was a grunt. “Yeah, and do what? Ask nicely that she come back with you? I swear, Morgan,” A pair of boots appeared on the edge of my vision, “You’re going soft. Just because she’s pretty don’t mean you got to be nice.”

  
A hand grabbed my good arm and pulled me to my feet. I immediately let him know how much I appreciated being lassoed. My feet gathered under me, I had regained leverage and the hand’s owner received a quick punch to the solar plexus. It wasn’t a good hit, it was with my bad arm, but it was enough to startle him and make him release my good arm. One swift and flashy flying triangle choke later he was on the ground, splayed on his back. I released him, but then immediately punched him in the face, breaking his nose. I scramble to my feet and backed away, ready to take off again. One of the other man was doubled over, laughing hysterically. “You gone and showed her now, Bill.” He said, watching his comrade clutch his face, blood oozing from between his fingers.

I took a couple steps back and bumped into something. Strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground and pinning my arms to my sides. I had forgotten about the third one. I kicked trying to throw the person off balance and wriggle myself free, but their grip remained tight. “Enough.” They said firmly. “If you don’t behave, I will hog tie you, and I doubt you will find that to be dignified.”

  
Reluctantly I stopped struggling. I was rewarded for my cooperation as my feet touched the ground again. I was spun around to face my captor. He still held me tightly against him, smart enough to suspect I would bolt at any moment. I recognized him as Arthur instantly. “Micah, get Bill back to camp.”

I twisted to look back at the other two. Micah, who had barely recovered from his laughing fit began to prod Bill with his boot. “Come on big fella,” he cooed, “She’s tiny, how hard could she hit you.”

  
“Let me go and I’ll show you how hard I can hit a man.” I hissed.

  
For that, I was grabbed around the waist and tossed over Arthur’s shoulder. As much as I like to be carried by large, strong men, this was not preferable. “We’ll have none of that.” He said and began walking back the way we had come.

  
“If you take me all the way back to camp like this, I will throw up on you.” I threatened.

  
He stopped. “Are you gonna behave, Ms. North?” The man asked me.

  
“And how would that benefit me, Mr. Morgan?” I demanded, trying to buy myself some time to think.

  
“You’d get to walk.”

  
I went over my options. The man’s grip was very strong and while there was still a lot of fight left in me, there was little energy to fuel it. I was tired, my ribs hurt, my head ached, and I had bled through the make-shift bandage on my arm. I wondered if this had been the plan all along: to lure me back to their camp. They were wanted men; they couldn’t risk letting me go and having me tell the law where they were. Even if I escaped Arthur’s hold and got away again… they still had a horse and even on my best day I couldn’t outrun that. Surrender was the best choice at this point… well, reluctant surrender. “I feel like I have little choice in the matter.” I responded finally.

  
“I’m afraid not.” He said, “But you can blame Marston for that.”

  
There was pity in his voice, but I only half believed it as he set me back down on the ground. He politely grabbed my good arm and started marching me back. We made our way to the camp in silence and were greeted by shouting, arguing voices. John was arguing with the tall, dark-haired man and Hosea was arguing with both of them. I looked over at Arthur, the light from the campfire illuminating his face. “I should’ve just let him take my horse.”

  
Arthur sighed and glanced over at the arguing men. “We shouldn’t have left you with him in the first place.”

  
There was the sound of rustling bushes and I looked over to see Micah and Bill returning. Bill looked a mess. I felt a small swell of satisfaction. “What the hell happened to Bill?" Demanded the dark-haired man, walking over to us.

  
Arthur chuckled. “Ms. North here found some time to teach him some manners.”

  
The man looked as if he was about to tear out his mustache. “You were supposed to…” he stopped mid-sentence and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just, go get yourself cleaned up.”

  
“I’m fine.” Bill grumbled.

  
I turned to Arthur. “Can’t you just rob me and get this over with?”

  
The dark-haired man looked back at Hosea. “Why did you leave John with her?”

  
The old man shrugged. “I thought he could handle it.”

  
“I did.” John said indignantly, “I…”

  
The three started arguing in a manner that suggested that this is was something they had already argued about before. Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm, leading me away from them. “Marybeth,” a girl sitting by the fire looked up at the sound of her name, “Could you please get Ms. North cleaned up.”

  
She stood and led us over to a wagon, telling me to sit down in the grass. I did so obediently and looked up at Arthur. “What happens now?”

  
“That ain’t my decision.”

  
“Whose is it?”

  
Marybeth gingerly removed the bandage on my arm and wiped it with a wet cloth. I clenched my jaw, trying not to think about how much that hurt. “Dutch always has a plan up his sleeve.” Arthur said, “He’ll… I’m sure he’ll figure something out.”

  
He turned and started walking away but stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder. “You ain’t gonna have anyone looking for you, are you?”

  
I held his gaze. “In what way would it benefit me to tell you?”

  
He just looked at me a moment. “Fair enough.”

  
I watched him walk back towards the arguing men. Marybeth was a very nice girl. Her hands were gentle and her voice kind as she tried to make conversation to distract me as she stitched up my arm. I answered the questions she asked politely but briskly. She was cute, but I had little patience for small talk at the moment. My mind was racing, going over contingencies and escape options. “So, there was a fight with some O’Driscolls?”

  
“Yes.”

  
She wrapped a fresh bandage around my upper arm. “I’m sure John took care of them. He’s pretty good in a fight.”

  
“He’s… something.”

  
That made her giggle for some reason. “I’ll go find you something to wear.”

  
She stood and left. I watched her disappear amongst the tents. “I’m sure John took care of them,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself, “Shithead didn’t do anything.”

I stood and stretched and washed my face in the wash basin she had left, inspecting my face gingerly with my hands in the dark. There were no bruises, just some scrapes much to my surprise. Marybeth returned with several shirts for me to try, explaining that they belonged to her and the other girls. None of them fit. She frowned and gather them all back up. “I’ll… I’ll be right back.”

  
She returned moments later, a shy smile on her lips. “Here, it’ll be a bit big, but…”

  
I took the shirt from her and followed her behind the wagon to put it on. “Whose…” It was large, but warm and comfortable, “Whose is this.”

  
“Arthur’s.” She said, “He heard me telling Tilly that none of ours fit you and he just… offered it.”

  
I tucked it into my pants. “That’s… nice of him.”

  
“Oh, Arthur is nice. He makes himself seem gruff and tough, but really he has a good heart.”

  
She took my old, ruined shirt from me and looked around before leaning in conspiratorially. “So… John, did he…”

  
She left the sentence hanging. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  
“It’s just… you know, he was arguing with Dutch and Hosea and was acting a little… strange.”

  
“I wouldn’t know if he’s acting strange, and I don’t much care to know. All I know is the man tried to sweet talk me, tried to steal my horse and then got me into this trouble.”

  
Her eyes lit up and I knew she was going to scurry off to her fellow female members of the camp and ruminate over that statement. “I see. Well, I should be going to bed, but have a good night.”

  
“Thank you, Marybeth.”

  
She nodded and flashed a smile then disappeared around the corner of the wagon. I fiddled with the cuff of my new shirt. Sleep seemed like an impossibility. The fires were dying, and people were crawling into their tents now that the excitement had subsided. Some were even snoring away already. The sounds of arguing could still be heard from the other side of the camp. I could slip away, and no one would notice… but I wasn’t going to. As I stood there in the cold, thinking of the events that had transpired that evening, I realized something: I had become bored. This was the most excitement I had had in months. Despite it all, I was enjoying myself in some strange, danger-obsessed way. I wanted to see how this was going to play out. What did I have to lose?

  
Off to my right, a break in the trees revealed a cliffs edge that overlooked the Dakota River. I made my way over and settled down in the grass, hugging my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them. I closed my eyes and listened to the whistling of the wind through the trees and the distant sound of rushing water. I breathed great lungful’s of the fresh, cool air, trying to fend off the weariness that was spreading through my limbs.

  
I heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching. “You know, we could find you someplace more comfortable to sleep.”

  
Recognizing the voice, I opened my eyes and looked out across the vista. “I’m not sleeping.”

  
Something warm and heavy was laid across my shoulders and he sat down next to me. “What are you doing then?”

  
I looked over at Arthur. I still didn’t know what to make of him. “Just thinking.”

  
I pulled whatever was on my shoulders forward, wrapping it around me. It was sheepskin lined coat and as one of the lapels brushed against my face, I was surprised to find it smelled strongly of lavender. I put my arms through the sleeves and settled into, suddenly very comfy. “Too bad,” he said, watching me, “That’s exactly what Dutch told me to make sure you weren’t doin’.” He smiled slightly, “Can’t have you runnin’ off in the middle of the night.”

  
Looking back out at the view, I sighed. “I suppose not.”

  
“We ain’t gonna rob you.” He said, “Not anymore, at least. John really made a mess of this.”

  
“That… matters very little now.” I eyed the rifle balanced across his knees. “How does this end then, Mr. Morgan?”

  
He gave me a side-eyed glance, then laid the rifle down on the ground next to him, out of my view. “How do you think?”

  
I leaned back, laying down in the grass, looking up at the inky sky. “Well, I would hope.” I murmured, closing my eyes.

  
He said something in response, but I was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions of how I can do better, let me know!


	2. Little Girl Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teaching O'Driscolls a lesson in manners is hard work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elaine is smol and ready to tussle, no matter who's trying to pick a fight with her.

I awoke to the sound of rain on canvas, which was odd considering I had fallen asleep in the grass. I opened my eyes and sat up, regarding the contents of the tent I found myself in. It was mostly empty, with only a trunk at the foot of the cot I was on and a side table with a few personal items on it. Whose ever tent it was obviously didn’t spend much time in it. I gave myself a quick once over, making sure everything was as it should be: jacket, shirt, pants, undergarments all in place. My boots were still on and still tied with the stupidly complicated knot I had learned at that fish market in Prague because Amari had said she thought it was pretty. No foul play… yet.

  
I stood and stretched and stepped to the tent entrance, observing the camp in the gray daylight. It was well kept and organized. A large portly man was tending to a stewpot on the other end, Marybeth and another girl huddled under the canopy out of the rain, sipping from steaming mugs. Directly across from me, Hosea sat at the mouth of his tent, sitting next to a little end table, scrutinizing some papers. There was the crack of an axe against wood and I turned to see Arthur chopping firewood by the overlook; in the rain, getting soaked to the bone. I found myself watching him as he worked, noting how his wet shirt clung to his arms and back, leaving little to the imagination. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He swung the axe with the familiarity of a man who had lived a life of hard work. For all intents and purposes, I was a captive and yet here I was, unable to stop myself from admiring the view. Focus, I told myself, get on the horse, get out. I scurried across the way, ducking into Hosea’s tent. “Good morning, Mr. Mathews.”

  
The old man started a little. “Oh, uh, good morning, Ms. North.” His smile was only mildly convincing, “I didn’t think you would be so… cheery.”

  
I noticed the stamped letter head on the papers in his hand and took the seat on the other side of his little table, trying not to think of the dread that filled my stomach at the sight of the sigil. “Just trying to make the best of an uncomfortable situation.”

  
There was a pressure to my tone that he no doubt noticed. His smile soured a little. “I see you’ve already made a trip into town.” I added.

  
“Oh, yes,” he looked down at the papers, “It seems someone paid the clerk at the hotel a handsome price to allow no one accept yourself into your room there. We did retrieve your saddle from the livery for you, however.”

  
“And my mail from the post office?”

  
He let out a small laugh. “Actually, this was waiting for you at the livery.” Hosea flashed the crest on the pages at me. “Is this what I think it is?”

  
I shrugged and looked out into the rain. “That depends: does it change things if it is?”

  
“I don’t think a letter is any real proof of anything. Anyone can forge letterhead.”

  
“Then why ask?”

  
He set the papers down on the table and picked up a mug from on the ground next to him, warming his hands around it. “I wanted to see what you would say.”  
I looked over at him. “Lying to a liar is a waste of breath.”

  
“Most people spend their whole lives never learning that lesson. You’re lucky to have learned it so young.” He met my gaze, “You’re not so lucky in some other respects.”

  
“The day is not yet over, Mr. Mathews.”

  
He drummed his fingers against the mug. “I would very much like to help you, Ms. North, but I’m afraid the choice isn’t up to me. Dutch always gets the final say. In the meantime, we’ll be taking you into town to collect your things.”

  
I knew that he was testing me, seeing if he could convince me that they were in fact on my side. That wasn’t the truth, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of a straight answer. “I’m quite capable of going and getting my own things myself.” I replied coolly.

  
He laughed softly. “If only it were that simple, my dear. We weren’t the only ones trying to get into your room this morning. Seems those boys you left alive were wanted and their friends aren’t too happy about them being in jail. Arthur will make sure there is no funny business.”

  
I watched the man in question cross the camp, having finished his chore, entering the tent I had woke up in. Wonderful, I thought, as if wearing his clothes wasn’t enough, I had slept in his tent and now he would be toting me around if Hosea had his way. Arthur seemed to feel the eyes on him and looked up, giving us a curt nod. “Mornin’ Hosea. Good morin’, miss.” He called over.

  
“Good morning indeed.” I muttered bitterly to myself.

  
I slouched into the warmth of my coat, half pouting about the corner I had found myself backed into, half scheming about how I would make my exit. It would take some work to escape this camp and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be able to convince them I wouldn’t try. I would just have to catch them off guard. For now, I needed to pretend I was letting Hosea lull me into a false sense of security. Cool, calm and honest conversation was the key to setting anyone at ease, I reminded myself. “I was wondering if you would be up to telling me what happened with those men last night.” Hosea said, sipping from his mug.

  
“What did John tell you?”

  
Hosea’s smile broadened. “He told us it was you who did all the fighting. All he did was take a couple punches.”

  
“And how does that change things?”

  
He put his mug down and picked the papers back up. “Anyone willing to put down some O’Driscolls has a leg up in Dutch’s book, I’ll give you that.” He pulled the business card I had given him out of his pocket and held it up, examining it, “It certainly makes your story a bit more believable too. John has no reason to lie, nor is it very like him to let someone else to take all the credit when some is owed to him, so I believe him when he tells me that you killed two men without a moment’s hesitation.”

  
“I should’ve known the ability to hold one’s own in a fight would impress you lot.”

  
Hosea opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by the arrival of someone at the front of the tent. The tall dark-haired man, who at this point I figured was Dutch Van der Linde, stood there looking at me from under the brim of his hat. He was posed in the classic, belt-grabbing macho cowboy stance. “Good morning, Mr. Van der Linde.” I said, my tone sharp.

  
“Good morning… Ms. North, was it? I hope you have found the camp agreeable on this rainy day.”

  
“I have lodged in worse places.” I held his gaze, “But I think there are more important things for us to do than exchange pleasantries.”

  
A small smile spread across his lips. “You are all business, aren’t you?”

  
“I have little time to be idle or coy, Mr. Van der Linde. Had we met in different circumstances, you would find my company much more appealing, but at the moment, I am not very inclined towards flattery or flowery speech.”

  
“Well that is a shame.” Dutch’s smile waned slightly, “I am a fan of flattery and flowery speech.”

  
“Well, I have no intention of being a kiss-ass.”

  
Hosea snorted into his coffee. Dutch’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his composure. “You have quite the mouth on you for a refined woman.”

  
“I have been told.” I said, bitterly.

  
Dutch began pacing slowly back and forth, one hand on his hip and the other motioning as he spoke. “You have found yourself in one very… difficult situation, Ms. North.”

  
“I think it’s quite simple.” I replied sarcastically, “Let me leave and we can all go about our lives.”

  
“I’m afraid we can’t just let you go and be about your business,” he continued, trying to sound sympathetic, “You see, we are not on the best terms with…”

  
“She knows we’re wanted men, Dutch.” Hosea interrupted, “Don’t insult the girl.”

  
“Yeah,” I agreed, “Marston told me.”

  
I may or may not have been trying to get John in trouble. I had no intention of staying around long enough to find out if it would work. “And I have little care for your status as a criminal, Mr. Van der Linde,” I added, “That is entirely your business. I simply wish to be on my way. I did not mean to cause any trouble, but I…”

  
“But you did cause trouble.” He had stopped pacing and was standing directly in front of me now, “You have caused me trouble, you have caused this camp trouble, you have caused John trouble…”

  
I was on my feet before I realized it. “John caused his own trouble when he threatened to steal my horse and forced me to come here.”

  
“But you chose to come here. You…”

 

“Chose?” I demanded, “What choice is it between being stranded in the middle of nowhere without a horse, or being stranded in a nest of outlaws with a horse?”

  
“You still made it. You came here and now you must face the consequences of you actions.”

  
“I have had my fill of stupid consequences, thank you very much. I will not be your prisoner.”

  
“Prisoner is a harsh word.” Hosea spoke up.

  
I turned to him, having lost my patience for his manipulative friendliness. I would not let them gang up on me. “And what word would you prefer, old man?”

  
Dutch tutted disapprovingly, as if I was an ill-behaved child. “Now, Ms. North, there is no need to be rude. I understand why you may be upset, but you must understand our reasoning in this situation. I think it would be best…”

  
That phrase struck a chord. Did he really think he could convince me that this was all my fault? That I should just play along like a good little captive? I was about to do something very foolish and poorly planned. “It would be best,” I said harshly, interrupting him, “For you to assume nothing. It would be best to not overstep your boundaries. It would be best for you to not think I am some damsel who can be charmed by handsome men with the false pretense of honorable protection. I will not be bullied into submission!” I snatched the papers from Hosea’s hand, “It would be best for you to go fuck yourself.”

  
I stormed out of the tent, not even giving myself the time to see their reactions, stuffing the papers into an inside pocket of my coat. I had definitely caught them by surprise. The move I had made wasn’t the smartest, but I had never been one to back down and I had the scars to prove it. They were conmen and thieves and maybe even murderers, and I wasn’t about to be intimidated and made to rollover for them. Every move they made was because it was in their best interests, not mine, and I was not a fool to be convinced otherwise.

  
I kept going until I reached Ontario and found that he had already been saddled. A man stood a little ways away, working on getting another horse ready. He looked up as I mounted. “Where’s Arthur?” he asked.

  
I looked down at him. “He’ll be here any second.” I said and then took off.

  
I made it into town before I slowed from a gallop, knowing there was comfort in being in the public view. Scrutinizing every passerby, I hitched the horse in front of the hotel. Marching inside, I gave the clerk a brisk nod and then climbed the stairs to find someone waiting outside my room. Tall, dark-haired and dark-skinned, the stranger was unfamiliar, but I would’ve bet an arm and a leg that he was a Van der Linde. I didn’t hesitate and walked right up to him. He looked up as I approached. “Where’s Arthur?” he asked, confirming my suspicions.

  
“He’s gone to take down my posting at the sheriff’s office for me.” I said, the lie coming easily, “If you could wait here, I’d like to get changed.”

  
He nodded and stepped aside. I unlocked the door and slipped into the room, trying to remain a visage of calm and cool. I didn’t bother to lock the door behind me; that would’ve been suspicious. I regarded the room briefly. It was untouched from the last time I had been there save a small package on the bed. Moving quickly, knowing that the cavalry would be arriving at any moment, I pulled my bag and rifle out from under the bed. I had never unpacked, as was prudent, and that would make my escape easy. I snatched the package and shoved it into my pocket and made my way to the window. Slinging the rifle and bag onto my back and I slowly opened, making as little noise as possible. There was nothing below but ground, about a story and a half down. I backed out with a firm grip on the sill and then let myself drop lightly to the grass. I moved to the front corner of the building, peering around just in time to see Arthur and the man who had been tending to the horses come ripping up the main street. People were jumping and running to get out of their way.

  
They spotted Ontario immediately and dismounted without even hitching their horses. Once they were inside, I bolted forward, collecting up the reins of the loose steeds before mounting Ontario and taking off. I headed down the street towards the church, tying the reins of the two spare horses together, then turned left onto the road that led northwest out of town. I dropped the reins and smacked the nearest horse on the rump, sending them down the road, spooked but unharmed. I turned sharply and cut behind the buildings, back towards the livery and the way I had come into town. I could hear them shouting, calling for their horses. They even tried to run after me, spotting me as I cut past the livery towards the road that lead south out of Valentine, but I was mounted and they weren’t, so there was no real point in them even trying. I never slowed down, though. I was a little cocky, but not stupid.

  
I didn’t let up until I had passed Downes Ranch. They wouldn’t know which way I went, but it was best to give myself some distance. There were a handful of roads leading away from Valentine, all going in different directions, and that was even if they thought I had taken a road. I strained my ears, listening for riders, but heard nothing. Satisfied I had lost them, I pulled the letter I had taken from Hosea out of my jacket. Instantly recognizing the handwriting as Ingvar’s, I felt the urge to toss the letter into the wind. There were few people in the world I wished to hear from less at that moment. I instead shoved it back into my pocket and returned my attentions to deciding where I was going.

  
The road headed down towards the river. As the rocky walls of the small pass that cut through the hills fell away, the road forked, one way going north across the river and the other taking a sharp left over a covered bridge heading south along the riverbanks. I turned left, knowing that this road would take me towards Blackwater, where John had told me the gang had fled from. The route would be a bit round-a-bout but that would just make me harder to follow. As I made my way across the bridge, a few men stepped into view on the other side. All of them were armed and all of them were wearing green bandanas or vests. “Well boys,” said one of the men closest to me, “Would you look who it is.”

  
I pulled the horse to a halt, but he wasn’t happy about it. Ontario didn’t like bridges. He stomped his feet and tossed his head nervously. “Why don’t you get down off that horse, Miss.”

  
I did so slowly and obediently, noting that I could hear someone coming down the road from Valentine. The O’Driscolls didn’t seem to notice or care, they were all eyes on me. “Would you lookie here,” cooed the man who spoke before, “Mighty fine horse you got.”

  
“I’d mind yourself,” I said, a tight grip still on the reins, “He’s a war horse. He’s more likely to charge you than to run away.”

  
He eyed Ontario warily, then motioned with his rifle. “Send ‘em off then. No need for the beast to ruin all the fun.”

  
I carefully wrapped the reins around the horn of the saddle so he wouldn’t trip, then gave him a hard slap on the rump. “Git!” I commanded. “Go home!”

  
I watched him take off back the way we had come, and as I turned, I noticed a horse going down the north road. I recognized the dusty gray appaloosa. It had been tied up outside the front of the hotel when I had arrived. There wasn’t a rider in the horse’s saddle. My luck might’ve been turning. I quickly turned back to the band of O’Driscolls, hoping they hadn’t noticed the rider-less horse as well. “Now that we’re alone,” the lead man said with a crooked smile, “Let’s get down to business.”

  
“How is it that you seem to recognize me?” I said, trying to stall, “I’ve never met you before.”

  
“Valentine’s our town, darlin’. We know you’ve been camped out all week, fishin’ for gentleman to relieve of their money.” He started to saunter forward, “Then there was that little party last night…”

  
“Hardly a party.” I interrupted, “You O’Driscoll boys don’t know how to dance.”

  
He was close enough now to shove the end of his rifle in my face. “Imagine our surprise when we found you was a Van der Linde whore.” He sneered, “You got two of our men killed, and landed another two in jail. We ain’t too happy about that.”

  
I raised my hands, not ready for a fight just yet. He took another step forward and patted me down cautiously, pulling the coat open to make sure I had nothing hidden. He paused, inspecting the inside of one of the lapels. I glanced down to see Arthur’s name stitched there. The O’Driscoll chuckled. “You know, they said that you were getting’ all warmed up to Marston last night, and here we find you wearing Morgan’s jacket.” He held the coat open, looking me over, “Dutch’s boys have interesting taste in women.”

  
I gritted my teeth as he took a step back, resisting the urge to headbutt him. “What,” I said, “You jealous or something? Or were you expecting me to cower and beg for my life and tell you I’d do anything if you just don’t hurt me?”

  
“See, now I know why someone went and made you ugly.” He snapped, shoving the rifle in my face again, pressing the end of the barrel against my cheek, “Did Dutch give you that? Did he get mad at you for not givin’ him his turn? Did you use that mouth for talkin’ when you should’ve been using it for somethin’ else?”

  
“Ugly?” I asked, “Really? That’s rich coming from someone who’s face looks like the wrong end of the horse.”

  
His sneer fell away in a flash. Some of his men snickered… and someone who wasn’t one of his men did too. One of the laughs came from outside of the bridge, but none of them would’ve been able to tell. Unlike them, who were nearly lounging, convinced they had captured easy prey, I was tense. My heart pounded; every sense ramped up, using every little detail to try and figure out how the hell to get myself out of this. We weren’t alone, I just had to figure out how to use that to my advantage. “What did you say?” The O’Driscoll demanded.

  
“I said I’ve seen wrinkly old ball sacks prettier than you.”

  
The men started to cackle. “Shut up!” he yelled, stepping in too close, getting up in my face, “I bet you fell to pieces last night,” He hissed grabbing me by the jacket and shaking me a little, “I think you are all talk. I bet you couldn’t handle watchin’ Marston shoot those men. Did he take you home? I bet you were just a mess. Whose lap did you cry into: Marston’s? Van der Linde’s? Morgan’s? Or did you visit them all in one night?”

  
He was nearly shrieking now, making sure everyone could hear him, when in all reality he was doing too much talking and not paying enough attention. “I don’t think it really matters,” I said, “Because you’re more interested in imagining that it was yours.”

  
“Why don’t you shut your little whore mouth.”

  
“Why don’t you shut yours.” I said, calmly tucking the barrel of his own pistol under his chin.

  
There was a bit of shouting from the other men. Something was happening on the other end of the bridge that had drawn their attention away from me. Not losing focus, I pressed hard with the pistol and his rifle clattered against the planks of the bridge. I was about to say something when an explosion threw up dirt behind the O’Driscolls at the end of the bridge, knocking some of them off their feet and startling everyone else. That was my que. I pistol-whipped my captive and took off in the other direction, back the way I had come. As soon as my feet hit dirt, I took a sharp left and headed towards the river. The current was strong from the spring thaw and a surprising number of people around here did not know how to swim. It seemed like a good way to put some distance between me and them. Even if they did manage to swim across, I would be faster, and their guns would be wet. My escape did not go unnoticed and bullets began to fly through the air around me. I ducked behind the nearest tree, dropping my bag and readying my rifle. I waited for a break in the gun fire, took a deep steadying breath, then stepped from cover and fired back. There was little cover around the bridge, but they were very scattered. It would be impossible to take them out quickly. I returned to cover in time to see the lead man, a gash on his cheek from where I had hit him, charging towards me. Just as he was about to lunge forward, someone appeared out of nowhere, tackling him to the ground. “Oh my god,” I said reflexively, recognizing the stranger, “Mr. Morgan!”

  
Arthur got back to his feet. “Don’t talk, just shoot.” He commanded, then turned and punched the lead O’Driscoll.

  
I allowed myself a single moment to acknowledge the situation before returning fire. That man really wanted his jacket back, I joked to myself. Another deep breath, another step out from cover and I caught one of the O’Driscolls between the eyes. Arthur and his opponent had disappeared from my field of vision, but I assumed the man could hold his own. As they all moved about, I started counting them; one O’Driscoll dead, one rolling around on the ground wrestling Morgan, one behind that tree, one behind that rock, another still by the bridge… I was trying to find O’Driscoll number six when something slammed into me. The rifle went flying from my hands and I hit the ground hard, the missing man on top of me. He pinned me to the ground, hands on my throat, sitting on my chest. “Donnally, we need her alive!” shouted the lead O’Driscoll as he grappled with Arthur.

  
“Mind your own damn business, Franklin!” Donnally shouted back.

  
He made the mistake of looking away as he spoke. I bridged, putting him off balance and rolled, throwing him off me. The other two O’Driscolls were still firing, not seeming to care much about accidentally hitting their comrades. I backed out of Donally’s reach and sprang to my feet, sure not to turn my back to him. “Slippery little thing, ain’t you?” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

  
He wasn’t very large, I told myself, I could take him easily. However, I was more interested in escape than fighting. For every step he took forward, I took one back until the grass and dirt under my feet gave way to river stones and sand. I wobbled a little, trying to keep my balance as I moved backwards on the loose rocks. Donnally grinned broadly and pulled a hunting knife from his boot. He lunged forward, slipping clumsily on the terrain. I seized the opportunity and, catching him off balance, I grabbed his arm, turned the blade and used his own stumbling momentum the drive the knife into his chest. He made a gurgling sound and I pushed him away from me. He stumbled a few steps before falling into the water with a splash. I made the mistake of watching the water take his body downstream and was rewarded by being tackled… again, knocking me into the river.

  
The water was arctic cold; the shock of it knocking the wind out of me. As my head broke the surface, I gasped for air and got a look at my new opponent: ugly boy Franklin. As I had predicted, the current was strong, and I struggled to put my feet under me even though it was relatively shallow where I was. Shots rang out from shore, but I was more focused on not being carried downriver, and on Franklin, who jumped on top of me, pushing my head underwater. He grasped my neck firmly and pressed me down against the river bottom. As little black dots danced across my vision, a thought occurred to me. I had no leverage to throw him off, to escape I would need to distract him.

  
I reached out, feeling for the top of his boot, hooking my fingers into it and finding exactly what I was looking for. After a little fumbling, I managed to pull the knife he had in there free, and as my lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen, I drove it into his thigh. His hands released from my neck and I used the handle to pull myself up. My head broke the surface and I was greeted by the sound of Franklin screaming in pain, unable to do much else besides produce noise. I found my footing, pulled the knife from his leg and shoved it up under his chin. I pushed him back and he collapsed into the river, disappearing downstream just like Donnally. Shivering and gasping for breath, I dragged myself out of the water, my large wet coat weighing me down. I checked my pockets. The package from the hotel room was miraculously still there, but the letter was ruined. It wasn’t really a loss; I probably wouldn’t have read it anyway. I trudged over to where I had dropped my rifle, eyeing Arthur and the remaining O’Driscolls. Two were dead on the ground with gunshot wounds, while the other was wrestling with him for his pistol. He was holding his own well enough. I picked up the gun, well aware there was only one round left. I took a couple steadying breaths, trying to ignore how cold I was, then turned and fired up into the air to get their attention.

  
Arthur and the final O’Driscoll both froze. “Do you want to live?” I called over, my voice far more hoarse than I expected.

  
“Ye… Yes.” Responded the O’Driscoll shakily.

  
“Then don’t move.”

  
They both stayed were they were as I advanced cautiously. After all, for all Arthur knew, I would shoot him too. “Alright, O’Driscoll,” I said sternly, “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

  
I was right in front of them now, the end of the rifle less than a foot away from his chest. “You’re going to go back to wherever the hell you came from and you’re going to tell them what I did to all your little friends.” I lunged forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, “And if any of you fucking O’Driscolls call me an ugly whore again, you will end up like Franklin and Donnally: floating down the river with your own knife stuck in you.”

  
I shove him backwards and he stumbled and fell, then scrambled to his feet. “Now get out of here!” I barked.

  
He sprinted towards the other side of the bridge where there were several horses tied up. He jumped on one and took off. I watched him disappear, slightly satisfied with the terror I had caused him. Every breath rattled in my throat and my back hurt from slamming against the river rocks. I drummed my fingers against the rifle, suddenly very anxious. I wasn’t sure what to do next, now that I was alone in the woods after having been strangled in the river. I turned to look at Arthur and found him stanced, ready, his eyes fixed on the rifle. I pointed it upwards and pulled the trigger, letting him hear it click. He gave me an exasperated look. “Really?”

  
I nodded. “Really.” I croaked.

  
I clenched my jaw, trying to stop my teeth from chattering and walked over to collect my bag. He followed me cautiously. “Is this where you drag me back?” I asked him, not looking back as a slung my bag and then the rifle over my shoulder.

  
“Are you gonna run?”

  
I crouched down, picking up Franklin’s pistol that I had dropped. The adrenaline had begun to ebb from my limbs and was being replaced by bone-chilling exhaustion. I knew that the best thing would to be go back with Arthur. The O’Driscolls knew my face; it would be too dangerous to be on my own. It would not be hard to have them take me in as Dutch had every intention of keeping close. It would be difficult, however, to convince them to let me exist as anything besides their prisoner. I stood and finally turned to face him. “You heard everything, right? Everything they said to me?”

  
His eyes were on the pistol. “Yes.”

  
“Mr. Van der Linde… is he the kind of person who would…”

  
He grabbed my wrist and took the pistol from me. “Dutch doesn’t cut women.” He said firmly, “If that’s what you asking.” He tucked the pistol into his belt, “As for the rest of what they said… Well,” He cleared his throat and shifted, suddenly awkward, “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  
“Worse people have said worse things. It’s not as if I expected them to be pleasant.” I said, exhaustion evident in my tone. “Thank you, by the way. Perhaps I should be making a habit of carrying around dynamite.”

  
I looked up, and my eyes met his. This was the only good idea, I told myself, this is the only good means of survival right now. “Maybe you should.” He said, “Seeing how you’re making it a habit of runnin’ into O’Driscolls.”

  
“This is the reason why I was looking to hire some muscle.” I said, dropping my gaze again, “But as usual, I have gotten myself into more trouble than I had meant to.”

  
His was still eyeing me cautiously, hovering close, ready to grab me if I tried to bolt. “You aren’t going to run then?”

  
I laughed. “Oh, I haven’t the energy for it, Mr. Morgan.” I turned and started to make my way slowly towards the horses, “Besides, I’d hate for you to disappoint Mr. Van der Linde. What other choice do I have anyway? Either I go back with you, or I take my chances with some more O’Driscolls.”

  
“You don’t have to come back as a prisoner.”

  
I stopped. “And how would that work, hmm?” I asked, looking, “What, Mr. Morgan, is your proposal? How do I convince you all that I have no intentions of turning you in?” I demanded, “How to I fix this mess?”

  
He kept moving forward, grabbing my arm as he passed, pulling me along towards the horses. “I don’t know. You seem good enough at talking yourself out of corners… or at least talking yourself into them. Why don’t…” He paused, thinking, “We go back to town and get a goddamn drink. Lord knows, I need one. That will give you some time to figure out whatever little sell you’re going to spin for Dutch.”

  
He proceeded to rifle through all of the saddlebags. I started going over my options in my head. “Money is a good motivator, but would it be enough for Dutch to give me my freedom?”

  
He laughed. “Money is just about the only motivator Dutch knows.”

  
“Then…” I sighed, “Well, it would be ironic if I were to pay you to show that I will keep quiet… or I could hire you as a sign of good faith maybe?”

  
Arthur paused in his looting and gave me a look. “Me?”

  
“Well, I don’t mean you specifically, though there is some argument that I would owe you as well. You did save my life.” I pulled on my jacket, “I’m wearing your clothes. I slept in your bed.”

  
“I suppose you do owe me.” He returned to his task, “You know, I don’t even know your name.”

  
The saddle looting finished, he walked over to me. “Elaine.”

  
“Really?”

  
“Is there something wrong with my name?”

  
“No,” He said quickly, “I was just expecting… you bein’ a high-class lady or whatever… I figured it’d be something more traditional: Jane or Katherine or something.”

  
“Jane North sounds like a very boring person. How dare you?”

  
That made him laugh. “I think you should take this time to think about what you are going to say to Dutch.”

  
He selected the best-looking horse and held out his hand to help me up. “Maybe I should just drag back one of these O’Driscolls.” I offered, “They really do seem to hate you lot.”

  
“Yeah,” Arthur sighed, “Dutch and Colm have a proper blood feud.”

  
I pretended as if I knew who Colm was. “And I have found myself in the middle. They think I am one of you already.” I accepted his hand and got onto the back of the horse, “Perhaps the solution would be to become one of you,” I mused aloud, “Then Dutch wouldn’t have to worry about getting turned in, I would be able have someone go to Strawberry with me.”

  
“You’re definitely handy in a fight.” He said, mounting.

  
I was slightly surprised by the fact that he wasn’t against the idea. Was it really that easy? “Handy?” I said, grabbing the back of the saddle and positioning myself better, “How many O’Driscolls did you kill again? This is twice I have gotten into a fight with one of you boys around and I have done more work both times, though admittedly you were far more help than Marston.”

  
“I will give you that much, but getting yourself in and out of fights isn’t necessarily a talent Dutch is looking for.”

  
I wrapped my arms around him, trying to steady myself as we began moving. “I will just have to find myself a more marketable talent then.”

  
“Can I ask you something?"

  
“Sure.” I said.

  
“Why did you make us that offer anyway?” he asked, “You made Hosea in about a minute, and yet you kept talking to him.”

  
“It wasn’t as if I was looking to hire nice, respectable men, Mr. Morgan. I need men who know how to shoot and look scary… and won’t bat an eye when it comes to disregarding laws. Up walks a conmen with a bit of muscle backing him up, after a week full of farmers and assholes, it seemed… perfect. Then, of course, it all went south and here we are.”

  
Arthur looked back at me over his shoulder. “You trying to tell me you wanted to hire criminals?”

  
“My business…” I was choosing my words carefully, “Is not for the faint of heart.”

  
“And what business was that again.”

  
“I am an… acquisitions expert. I acquire items which my father’s firm then sells to collectors or aficionados.”

  
“Oh, so you’re a fancy burglar.”

  
“I… am more of a treasure hunter, but I will admit that treasure is not always found in caves or tombs.”

  
Arthur was silent for a moment, making me feel as if I had said something wrong. “I’ve never met a lady treasure hunter before.”

  
“We are a rare breed.”

  
“We could always use a good burglar,” he said, “And you’re small so you’d probably be better at not getting caught than the rest of us.”

  
“I have been known to be stealthy when I want to be.” I admitted, trying to figure out how I would feel about becoming a legitimate thief, “I… I could do that.”

  
He seemed to like that response and let the conversation drift. I spent the rest of the ride into Valentine recounting to Arthur all that John had told me, all in the hope that I might get the bastard in trouble. “He really told you all that?” he asked as we passed the livery, turning onto the main street.

  
“Yes, and I wasn’t even being that persuasive. A couple well-placed compliments and a free drink or three and he was singing like a canary."

  
“You shouldn’t have told me that.”

  
“Let me buy you a drink, Mr. Morgan and I will tell you more.”

  
“You’re funny.”

  
I patted his shoulder. “It’s an underappreciated gift.”

  
We went to the smaller saloon next to the church; I had seen my fill of Smithfield’s. I hopped down before he had even brought the horse to a halt. “I can’t remember the last time a woman bought me a drink.” He said.

  
“Well,” I said, dismounting, “If all goes well, perhaps I will be buying you a few more in time.”

  
He followed me up the steps and inside. “Is that so?”

  
I shrugged. “I think we make a good team.”

  
Arthur opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a loud conversation going on at the bar. “Buy me another drink!” slurred an old man, already slumped over the bar, “And I’ll tell you.”

  
An earnest, tired, balding man was trying to talk with him. “Come on, sir, try to remember… what really happened at Sylvia’s Saloon back in ’76?”

  
“Just a lot of bunk, Plato, it’s just a lot of bunk.” Spluttered the old man.

  
I approached the bar, curious and not even pretending that I wasn’t listening in. “It’s not bunk, Mr. Calloway, sir. It’s history.”

  
The poor man sounded very frustrated, as if he was trying to convince a wild toddler to not throw his food on the wall. “Ancient history,” Calloway mumbled, “Done and dusted. The dead got off lucky, the living gotta keep suffering.”

  
“But did you shoot the Newton twins?”

  
“I don’t give a pig’s penis about the Newton twins!” the old man exclaimed, “One of ‘em was a girl anyhow.”

  
“But you had been friends back in ’73. You rode the Alabaster Trail together.”

  
“Funny thing about pigs’ penises,” the old man continued, seemingly ignoring the other man, “They’re curly like their tails. Ha!” the old man smacked the bar, “Put that in your book, Plato!”

  
There was a thud as he put his head down on the bar. The other man put his head in his hands and sighed deeply. “This isn’t going very well.” He murmured to himself.

  
I motioned to the bartender and as he poured out two drinks, I dug money out of my bag. “Who’s your friend there?” Arthur asked the man.

  
“This is Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway,” He said with hollow bravado, “The Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway.”

  
Arthur frowned and looked between them, then to me. I shrugged. “Who?” I asked.

  
“The gunslinger,” the man said incredulously, “The fastest left-handed draw that ever drew breath. He once killed fourteen men in a fight at Lewsey Hollow.”

  
Arthur and I both looked at Calloway, who was now snoring softly. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Arthur asked him.

  
I snorted, knowing where he was going, and downed my drink, motioning for the bartender to pour another. I was looking for a little liquid courage as I planned out my inevitable conversation with Dutch, remembering that the last thing I had told him was to ‘go fuck himself’. The man looked at Arthur, confused. “How do you mean?”

  
“Well…” Arthur went up to Calloway, “I reckon right now…” he gave the unconscious man a little shove, “Kill ‘em yourself.”

  
The man looked offended. “I don’t want to kill him,” he said, “I want to deify him.”

  
“Why?” I asked, “He doesn’t seem very… receptive.”

  
“He’s a god.” He insisted, “I’m trying to write his biography.”

  
“And how’s that going?” Arthur asked with a chuckle.

  
The man dropped his notebook down on the bar dejectedly. “I think I prefer the duel. Either I’d kill him…” he shot Calloway a dirty look, “And be able to be Baltimore’s finest ever gunslinger, or he’d kill me, and I could be set free from ever having to speak to him again.”

  
He nearly shouted the last few words at the old drunk. “Well, you’re starting to understand something very important.” Arthur said, patting the man on the shoulder.

  
“What’s that?” he asked disdainfully.

  
“The joys of gunslinging.” Arthur sat down next to me, “It’s win-win. Freedom or glory.”

  
The man’s eyes brightened. “That’s brilliant. I’m going to write that down…” he hurriedly pick his notebook back up, “If I may.”

  
Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “Be my guest.”

  
He rolled his eyes so only I could see, and I couldn’t help but smile. Arthur had a sense of humor that surprised me. “What’s your name?”

  
Arthur gave him a hard look. “I don’t have a name.”

  
The writer leaned forward to look around him at me. “Miss, what is your husband’s name?”

  
Husband. I didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended. “Nobody.” I said firmly.

  
He looked at us, disheartened. “But you are a gunslinger?”

  
“Not really. I mean folks who need shootin’, I try and shoot in the back. All that other stuff, it’s…” they both looked over at Calloway, “Well… bunk.”

  
“But you’ve fought duels?”

  
“Once upon a time…” Arthur picked up his drink and touched the glass to mine with a wink, “I may have.”

  
He threw back the drink and I followed suit, the alcohol pushing back the cold that had overtaken my limbs. The man watched us. “And you ain’t interested in fame?”

  
“I don’t think so.”

  
“Strange…” he watched Arthur put the glass back down on the bar, “But you like fortune?”

  
“I need money, sure.”

  
“Okay, then forgive me, mister, if I sound a little desperate… I am a little desperate. This book,” he patted the notebook, “I gotta make a thing of it, and… well… there’s a whole list of gun fighters.” He picked up his bag and set it down on the bar, pulling some papers out of it, “Legends, every last one.”

  
He handed Arthur some photographs, naming each one as he handed them over, each more enthusiastic than the last. “Emmet Granger, Flaco Hernandez, Billy Midnight, Black Belle.”

  
Arthur didn’t even look at the photos, he just handed them directly to me. “Never heard of ‘em.” He said with a shrug.

  
“Maybe you can go and speak to them… you know, ask them about Calloway. Any of ‘em get uppity…” he glanced around, then lowered his voice, “shoot ‘em.” His eyes were wide behind his glasses, “I can’t believe I just said that but…”

  
“You want me to go and find you some sad, deluded fools like him, ask if he was the greatest and then, if the get uppity, shoot ‘em?”

  
The poor man dropped his gaze. “Does sound a lot worse than it did in my head.”

  
Arthur sighed. “How much you paying?”

  
The man’s face brightened. “Well, a lot! Half the proceeds of the book if you help me get it written.”

  
Arthur turned to me. “Do biographies sell well?”

  
“As long as they’re about something interesting.” I shrugged, “Gunslingers are certainly interesting.”

  
He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
“Ha!” exclaimed the writer, “Oh! Get photos.”

  
Both Arthur and I stood, his hand on the small of my back to steer me towards the door. The man held out a camera. I took it from him carefully. “Okay.” Arthur said.

  
“And there are notes on the back of those portraits that should lead you to ‘em.”

  
“I’ll see what I can find out.” Arthur assured him.

  
“I imagine we’ll be stuck here upon you return,” the writer called after us as we made our way to the door, “Here or some other flop house.”

  
I tucked the camera under my arm and walked down the front steps of the saloon, studying the portrait cards and the notes on the back of them. “I can’t believe he thought you were my wife.” Arthur muttered, moving past me and unhitching the horse.

  
“He was just trying to be polite to the scary man with a gun at his hip.” I said, not looking up, “I am, also, wearing your coat and your shirt.”

  
“Don’t think I’d forgotten.”

  
He was about to mount when I looked up. “What are you doing?”

  
He gave me a cautious look. “You ain’t gonna make me chase you again, are you?”

  
“No. What I meant to say was: why are you getting on the horse?”

  
Arthur just looked at me, confused. “Do you like that horse?”

  
Frowning, he regarded it. “It’s a horse.”

  
“And I’m guessing your compatriots would’ve recovered yours and taken it home?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Then why not just sell this one? Get something out of all the effort you’ve put forth today?”

  
Arthur put his hands on his hips and gave me an exasperated look. “How are we supposed to get back to camp without a horse? I ain’t walking.”

  
“We’ll take Ontario.”

  
I handed him the photos and the camera, exchanging them for the reins and started walking towards the livery. “Ontario.” He repeated.

  
“He’s a good horse. I told him to go home. He should be waiting for me back at the livery.”

  
“No horse is that smart.”

  
“We’ll make a bet of it.” I looked back at him, “If my horse is there, you have to take me with you to find those gunslingers. If he’s not then… well, I’ll owe you… I don’t know, what would you want?”

  
“You want to go hunt down gunslingers?”

  
“I wouldn’t want any of the money, just the adventure. You can be in it for the money and I can be in it for the glory.”

  
“And why would I want to take you?”

  
“Besides the fact that it is my job to find things and I could make hunting these people down far easier for you? It’s a bet, Arthur. If I win, I get what I want, if you win, you get what you want.”

  
“Fine. I win, you owe me… a favor.”

  
My eyes narrowed, but I stopped and held out my hand to him. “Vague, but I accept.”

  
He took my hand and grasped it. “What makes you think I’m gonna honor this bet?”

  
“Because now you know I’m not afraid to shoot a man.”

  
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  
We walked down the main street and I silently prayed that my horse would be there waiting for us when we arrieved. I didn’t like the sound of owing an ominous favor. “So, when you manage to talk your way out of the mess you’ve gotten yourself in with Dutch,” Arthur said, “What is your first move?”

  
“If I manage to convince him to let me stay with you all? The first step would be sending for my things.”

  
“Oh, you mean that all your worldly possessions aren’t in that bag on your back?”

  
“Your sarcasm is unnecessary. It was a contingency to make sure I didn’t get robbed.”

  
“Shame.” He said, shaking his head, “This would’ve been much easier if we could’ve just robbed you.”

  
“Believe me, I know.”

  
We had reached the livery and I handed the reins over to him. As we walked inside, I felt a sweet wave of victory wash over me. Ontario whinnied at me, his head poking out from one of the stalls. I turned to Arthur with a smug smile. He didn’t look at me. “You really want to ride to awful places and find gunslingers?”

  
“Yes.” I said enthusiastically, “I guarantee working with me is far better than chasing after me when I have escaped in the middle of the night.”

  
“Why do you think I would be the one chasing after you?”

  
I shrugged and walked over to rub my horse’s nose. “Who else would they send?”

  
In reality, I had no idea if there was someone in the gang more qualified than Arthur to hunt someone down. I imagined he had been the one to chase after me simply because of circumstance and vicinity. He just rolled his eyes and went to haggle with the price for the horse.

  
I instructed a stable hand to bring Ontario around front, then went to stand outside the stable, re-braiding my hair after realizing what a mess it was. After realizing that fixing my hair was a futile display of vanity considering I was covered in mud and wearing a drenched coat about four sizes too big, I remembered the little package in my pocket. I pulled it out and stripped the now soggy paper wrapping off of it, revealing the small black wooden box beneath. I stared at it for a few moments, knowing exactly what was inside without opening it.

  
I turned it over in my hands, trying to think of what I was going to say to Dutch. There was no chance that he was just going to let me walk away as he had no reason to trust that I wouldn’t alert the authorities to their location. The choices were simple: I would either have to run, forcing Arthur or however else to chase after me, or accept that Van der Linde wanted to keep me close and make the best of it. I did not like the prospect of running: I had never been one to turn away from a challenge. Staying with the gang would also ensure that I wouldn’t be stuck alone trying to complete this stupid fool’s errand of a punishment.  
Arthur came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. “What is that?”

  
I flipped open the box, revealing the contents. There, nestled in velvet, sat my pin, the silver tree and sword glinting in the sunlight. “Is that what I think it is?” He asked when I said nothing.

  
I turned to look at him, snapping the little box shut. “What do you think it is?”

  
“You’re part of that… order thing.”

  
The stable hand came out leading Ontario. I took the reins and thanked the man, waiting for him to leave before responding. “And what if I am?”

  
“Depends. What’s in Strawberry that you want?”

  
Ontario rested his head over my shoulder, and I scratched his nose obligingly. He snuffled at my pockets, looking for treats. “Treasure map.” I said, being purposely vague.

  
“Is the treasure cursed?”

  
It took me a moment to respond, taken off guard by such a blunt question. “No.” I said defensively, “Why do you ask?”

  
I wasn’t sure whether the amulet I was searching for was actually cursed or not yet. “Heard lots of strange stories about the Order, always having to do with weird stuff.”

  
“The main goal is treasure, Mr. Morgan.” I mounted and looked down at him. “And I know that is something that you hold dear, and I am sure that you understand that there is always a little risk involved when there is great rewards to be had.”

  
He looked up at me, his beautiful eyes catching the sun, his face illuminated by the light. I found my heart in my throat. I had barely known the man a day and I was already trying to get him to join me on an adventure. Then again, I had never been accused of making wise decisions. “I guess I can handle that,” He said finally, “But are you really gonna make me ride on the back?”

  
I lifted my chin confidently, trying hard not to laugh. I really liked this man. “My horse, my rules, Mr. Morgan.”

  
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  
He got on behind me, settling in awkwardly. “You can hold on, if you need,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him, “I promise I won’t bite.”

  
“I was just…”

  
“Your polite respectfulness has been noted, but we are riding a horse, not sharing a bedroll, Mr. Morgan. I was holding onto you earlier.”

  
“Fine then,” He grabbed the back of the saddle and pulled himself forward a little more, getting comfortable, “Let’s get to it.”

  
I squeezed gently with my heels and we were on our way. “You really think Dutch will listen to anything I have to say?”

  
I felt Arthur shrug. “If you can make him see that there’s something worthwhile for him in letting you stay, I think you’ll be fine.”

  
“Is there anything Dutch cares about besides money.”

  
There was a pause. “Loyalty.” Arthur said finally, “and freedom.”

  
“Freedom from the laws of men and gods.” I mused aloud.

  
“Something like that.”

  
I suddenly felt a little hollow. Of all the things I possessed, true freedom was not one of them. The Order granted eternity at the price of eternal rules. Breaking said rules had gotten me here. The chance of a taste at freedom was more enticing than Arthur could imagine. “It may sound strange, but I find such a sentiment… very motivating.”

  
“It ain’t that strange. Why do you think people join us?”

  
“Loyalty, freedom, money… it is a very rare opportunity I imagine.” I looked mournfully towards the horizon.

  
“You say that like you ain’t trying to join us.”

  
“Join you.” I echoed, mulling the sentiment over in my head, still trying to figure out how to make it work, “I just think that Dutch wants…”

  
“You don’t know what Dutch wants.” Arthur said firmly.

  
“You… You think this could really work out, then?”

  
“It will be hard work; everyone contributes, but I can’t imagine you’d have a very hard time pulling your weight.”

  
“You make it sound so easy.”

  
We reached the thick growth of trees that sheltered the camp from prying eyes. I slowed Ontario to a walk, and we made our way towards the sound of voices. “Maybe it is.”

  
He spoke right at my ear. I could feel his breath on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I became very aware of the fact he had grabbed my waist to steady himself as he leaned forward; on how close he was. Maybe… maybe it was that easy. All I needed to do was prove to Dutch my worth, and I wouldn’t need to worry about being on my own. The spell of the moment was broken as someone barked from among the trees. “Who’s there?”

  
A burly, bearded man sporting a magnificent black eye appeared from the brush, rifle at the ready. “Why, Bill, don’t you look a vision of beauty on this fine day?” I purred; my voice sickly sweet.

  
Arthur laughed and dismounted, taking the reins from me and leading Ontario to one of the hitching posts hidden among the trees. I let him help me dismount and followed him through the campsite towards the central tent. “Arthur!” Someone shouted, “How long does it take to catch one woman?”

  
Dutch stood at the opening of the tent, hands on hips. “Well, he hasn’t caught me yet,” I said, “So I’d say a while.”

  
“Another hour and I would’ve had you.” Arthur said confidently.

  
I shook my head, trying to hide a smile. “Whatever you say, cowboy.”

  
Hosea appeared at Dutch’s elbow. “What happened? Did you drop her in the river?”

  
I turned to Arthur, mock offended. “Do I really look that bad?”

  
“You look… soggy, that’s for sure.” He grabbed my chin and lifted it, inspecting my neck, “Those don’t look too pretty though.”

  
“What the hell happened?” Dutch demanded.

  
“Seems Ms. North here has a particular talent for attracting O’Driscolls.”

  
“What?”

  
Arthur walked over and sat down on a chair in the tent. “You heard me: O’Driscolls.”

  
“And did you take care of them?”

  
“Oh, Ms. North took good care of them.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, leaning back and settling into the chair, “I was just in the way, really.”

  
I was surprised by his modesty. Hosea was still looking at me. “Why did you come back?” He asked.

  
“What other choice do I have?” I said, shrugging “Even if I kept running, you’d keep sending Arthur after me.”

  
“So you came back to apologize and see if we’d shelter you from this little storm you’ve found yourself in.”

  
I could tell Dutch was being purposefully patronizing. He had every right to be. After all, I had told him to go fuck himself. I also knew that I would have to stand my ground if there was any chance of this going my way. “I have no intention of apologizing for anything, if that is the way you intend to speak to me.”

  
“Oh my,” Dutch stepped forward and grabbed me by the chin, forcing me to look at him, “You come crawling back, but you are still running that mouth of yours. Where do you think that will get you?”

  
“I like not to waste time saying anything other than what I mean.”

  
I held his gaze, not backing down from his silent challenge. This was going to get heated quickly, but I would have to see it through this time, rather than escaping. Dutch wasn’t going to let this be easy. “Hosea read some interesting things in that letter he found. You know, Ms. North, I have little patience for young girls looking to run off with cowboys just to displease their fathers.” His voice became a little more menacing, “Especially ones who are offering money they don’t have.”

  
“So that’s what it said,” I acted as if I hadn’t heard his seething tone, “I never did get to read it.”

  
“What were you going to do when the time came to pay up? Run to the sheriff crying wolf? Sell yourself?”

  
That was a step too far. I was not a manipulative coward and I would not let him accuse me of being one. Easily throwing off his grip, I took a step back. “You must truly think I am some stupid spoiled brat if you are under the impression that just because I am on my own, I don’t have any money. Do I look like some belle with an allowance?” I demanded, “Do I look like some pampered princess who sits in parlors all day drinking tea and gossiping while she waits to be married off to some dullard of a man?” I was getting a little worked up, again, the words coming out of my mouth unbidden and unapproved by my good sense, “Fuck you. I am no one’s prize pony and I will not be spoken to as if I was.”

  
Dutch was so very good at setting me off, and while some part of me knew that he was doing it on purpose, I couldn’t stop myself from reacting. He was trying to see how far he could push me. It was a test, but I could not let the chance to tell the smug bastard off slip through my fingers. “I am not some runaway looking to make ‘Daddy’ mad so he will take me back. They left me; abandoned on the pretense of punishment and told to complete some fool’s errand with every intention of the worst happening. I am alone in this godforsaken state, being chased by some delinquents who for some reason think I am some harlot of yours, and all I am asking is for some help, but if you’re going to be a dick about it…”

  
He held up his hands and I fell silent, letting the sentence trail off. “Hold up. Who thinks what?”

  
“The O’Driscolls, in much nicer terms than what they used, think she’s one of us.” Arthur clarified, “Thinks we had put her in town to find marks to rob.”

  
Dutch rubbed his temples, a headache imminent for him. “God, as if this weren’t enough of a mess already.”

  
“Shows how stupid they are.” Hosea said, “Thinking it’s a good idea to make a posting at the sheriff’s office and then robbing the people who answer the posting. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  
“You know,” Arthur said, “I think they might own the sheriff. There’s something going on at the doctor’s and I’ve seen him…”

  
“Gentlemen!” Dutch interrupted, “Let us focus, please!” He turned to me, “What is it that you want, exactly.”

  
“Freedom,” I said quickly, “in one way or another. I know that you aren’t just going to let me walk away, but I don’t really care about that. I run away, then I’m an easy target. I…” I paused trying to speak truthfully, but not sound so desperate, “I would like to stay, that’s why I came back, but not as your prisoner. I would stay as your equal.”

  
“You want to join us?”

  
I held Dutch’s gaze, but out the corner of my eye, I could see Arthur and his triumphant little smile. He was so pleased with himself at being right. “I am well educated, and I can speak more languages than you could ever think of. I can shoot a gun; use a bow; swing an ax. I am no stranger to hard work, and I have a reputation which could either get you into places you wouldn’t normally, or make some folks look the other way.” I cleared my throat, remembering what Arthur had said earlier, “There is also the matter of my profession.”

  
“Hmm, yes,” Dutch began to pace across his tent, “I did see your business card. ‘Acquisitions expert’ is a very fancy way of saying burglar, if I am to believe you.”

  
“I prefer to use the term ‘treasure hunter’ most of the time.”

  
“That,” He said sharply, “Remains to be seen, but there is also the matter of… you affiliations.” He stopped pacing and moved to stand in front of me, “You mentioned something about being punished.”

  
“There was something about that in the letter too.” Hosea interjected.

  
“I… you needn’t worry about them. All they care about is my fool’s errand. For all they care I could die trying.”

  
“I will not have some high class boogey men descending upon my camp.”

  
“They left me here to fail or die. Believe me, you’ll have no trouble from them.”

  
“Abandoned by your peers and disowned by your father.” Dutch mused, “I think you should rethink your allegiances, Ms. North.”

  
“I… am trying, Mr. Van der Linde.”

  
He looked at me for a moment, then put his arm around my shoulders. “You will have to earn your keep. The gang would come first, always. Do you think you could manage that?”

  
“Of course, Mr. Van der Linde.”

  
I swallowed any excitement. Now was not the time to feel confident; not until I was sure my safety among them was secured. “And there, of course, will be a test of your abilities before I just let you go and get my boys in trouble.”

  
“I would expect nothing else.”

  
He was leading my away from the tent, towards the main campfire, “Good. I am glad we are the same page.”

  
“I will… I will need to send for my things.”

  
He raised an eyebrow. “Your things?”

  
“Well, yes. I did not bring all of my possessions to Valentine with me. That’s a good way to get robbed.”

  
“I suppose it would be.” He said with a laugh, then looked back over his shoulder, “Hosea, why don’t you get the lady a pen and some paper.”

  
He turned back towards the fire and called over to an older woman sitting nearby. “Miss Grimshaw, it seems we have a new addition to camp!”

  
She stood and turned to face us. With a hard eye, she gave me a once over. “She looks like a drowned rat.”

  
“Put her to work.” Dutch said, pushing me forwards and backing away, “I leave Ms. North in your capable hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions of how I can do better, let me know!


	3. The Lady Is a Tramp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elaine is trying very hard to be a good gang member.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We fear and respect Susan Grimshaw in this house.

I spent the afternoon explaining to Miss Grimshaw that while I could not sew, I was still quite useful. She spent the afternoon taking advantage of finally having someone with an engrained sense of respect towards authority. The fact that I had a hard time saying ‘no’ to her orders or lacked the urge to slack off almost made up for my inability to patch clothing. I was introduced by a very excited Marybeth to the other girls: Tilly, Karen, Abigail and Sadie. Tilly and Karen were Marybeth’s age and I quickly learned that the three were a trio to be reckoned with. They were young and excitable and had all grown up in the life. They were devious, gossipy and I loved them. Abigail was just a couple years younger than me and was more serious than the other girls. She was a mother but seemed the type to have always been motherly in her manner. She was responsible and practical and very direct, and immediately set about taking me under her wing.

  
Sadie was beautiful and grim and somber. She had only been with the gang about three or four weeks now but had little choice in the matter. As Abigail informed me in a hushed tone as we fetched water from the river, Sadie’s farm had been burned to the ground and her husband killed by O’Driscolls, so they had taken her in, which explained why she had ignored me when I had introduced myself. Sadie did her chores quietly and talked only minimally with everyone else. I understood that grief of that magnitude was a burden that could not be shared, nor shed, easily and I left her alone.

  
The day wore on until it was time for dinner. Pearson, the former sailor turned cook whom I had met earlier, called out across the camp to inform everyone that the stew was ready. “We should go before the men get to it.” Abigail said, motioning for me to set down the socks she was showing me how to mend, “They are all elbows and hungry mouths.”

  
I followed her to the stew pot, smiling down at her son, Jack, who instantly appeared at his mother’s side when she called his name. He was an outgoing, inquisitive little thing. Abigail had to give him a book to read earlier just so he would stop asking me questions. As soon as he had heard that me mention I had spent most of my life travelling, he hadn’t left me alone. It had gotten to the point where he had made me promise to show him how to sword fight before Abigail intervened. I accepted the bowl that Abigail handed me and followed her over to the table, sitting down next to her and listening as she introduced the remaining members of the camp as they came up to get food. “That’s Reverend Swanson,” She said, “And…”

  
“Is he actually a clergyman?”

  
She chuckled. “Once, I guess, but now,” She leaned in close so Jack wouldn’t hear, “His bible’s got a morphine syringe in it. Everyone knows, but… not much we can do until he decides to stop on his own terms.”

  
I said nothing, not knowing really what to say, and listened as she continued. “That’s Javier, and Charles…”

  
Javier was the one who’s horse I had tied to Arthur’s and sent down the road. Charles had been the man at the hotel. “You’ve already met Bill.”

  
The large man gave me a sideways glance as he filled his bowl of stew but said nothing and stalked off towards the campfire. “Then there’s Lenny, and that’s Sean… he’s a bit loud but you get used to him. Then there’s…” She made a small disgusted noise, “Micah. I don’t like him very much. He’s not very nice. Then this is Herr Strauss. He’s Austrian. Have you ever been to Austria?”

  
Herr Strauss approached the table and moved to sit with us. He was a small, frog-like man with a permanently sour look on his face. “Austria is a beautiful country. I’ve been there a couple of times, mostly just to visit Vienna. Where are you from there?” I said, in German, as he sat down next to Jack.

  
A look of pleasant surprise dawned on Abigail’s face. “I was born in Vienna,” Strauss replied, “But I have not been there in many years. It is good to see that Dutch has finally found someone with a brain between their ears and not just a gun on their hip. Do you speak many languages, Miss?”

  
There was a familiar light in his eye; the small joy he was experiencing in the realization that he could converse in the language of his forefathers without ridicule was something I understood and was a gift I gave gladly. Before I could respond, or even introduce myself, Abigail grabbed my arm. “Javier!” she called over towards the campfire, “Come over here!”

  
Javier did not seem as if he really wanted to join us. He was probably still a little upset about his horse but shuffled over. Sean followed behind him, curious about the fuss. “Do you speak Spanish?” She asked excitedly.

  
It was a sign of her character that her first thought was of how I might be of service to someone else. “Abigail,” Javier said, “Of course she speaks Spanish.”

  
She gave him a look. “Just because she looks Spanish don’t mean she speaks it.”

  
“She’s right,” I said, “You shouldn’t just assume. With a name like mine, it could go either way.” Then, unable to stop myself, I told him in Spanish. “I’m sorry about your horse.”

  
He sat down next to me, giving me a scrutinizing look. “Is your name fake, then? Do you use it to confuse the white people?” he asked.

  
“Oi, I heard ‘gringos’.” Sean interjected, teasingly, “That’s not a nice word.”

  
“Don’t worry.” Javier assured him in English, “We were only talking about you.”

  
He turned his attention back to me, reaching out and brushing a stray strand of hair off my cheek and tucking it behind my ear. “You were saying, about your name.”

  
“It’s my actual name,” I said, trying to focus as his hand lingered against my cheek, “I assure you.”

  
“Hosea said you had a title.” He had leaned in closer now, a soft smile spreading across his lips, “That you weren’t Miss North, but Lady North.”

  
I tried to turn to look away in a feeble attempt to give myself room to breathe or think straight, but he gently grabbed my chin to turn my face back to him again.  
“It… it is a rather long, boring story, but suffice to say I was adopted.” I said, my brain struggling to work properly, trying very hard to ignore the tingle that the sensation his hand against my skin sent down my spine, “Born to Mexican parents but raised by a Danish man.”

  
With Javier and Abigail leaning curiously towards me on either side, I was finding it hard to concentrate. My heart was pounding, overwhelmed by their presence. It was difficult to even think about forming words and not about Javier’s hand at my cheek or Abigail’s shoulder pressing against mine. “Adopted.” Abigail repeated the word almost wistfully.

  
“Boring, you say,” Javier let his hand drop to his side, “You know, most of those here were orphans. We don’t find the idea of being adopted very boring.”

  
“Most people just don’t find it interesting.”

  
“I would love to hear the story.” Abigail insisted, grabbing my hand.

  
“And you expect us to believe that load of crock?” Sean demanded, breaking the moment.

  
“Sean.” Abigail chided, giving him a hard look and waving Jack away from the table in anticipation of him hearing something he shouldn't.

  
“What! You expect us to believe that some high society lady fell in with us? Horse shit!”

  
“The falling in with you all wasn’t on purpose, I assure you.” I said, regarding him harshly.

  
“No.” Sean said, “Of course not. You just let the wrong man get handsy with yah behind a barn.”

  
I stood, jarring the table a little bit and he did the same. Abigail looked like she had been slapped in the face. Javier was quickly realizing he was sitting in the wrong place. Herr Strauss picked up his bowl and left the vicinity as quick as his little legs would carry him. “You want to try that sentence again?”

  
I stepped around Javier, putting myself toe to toe with the Irishman. “You heard me.” He said, laughter in his voice, “You let Marston stick his hand in your trousers and that’s why you’re here and if you expect me to believe that some ‘high-class’ lady would let him do that then you are crazier than I thought.”

  
I was trying my best to stay calm. Fighting this loud mouthed red-head would probably not be the wisest decision, but if he kept going on about Marston, it couldn’t be helped if he ended up face down in the dirt. “Is that what you think happened?” I asked in a low voice.

  
“It's what happened. Johnny boy got excited and then some O’Driscolls turned up and he killed them. Then, too stupid to think better, he took yah with him when he ran off and now you’re here.”

  
“You think John killed those O’Driscolls?”  
“If you did, then I’ll eat dirt.” He laughed, “Tiny thing like you, I know you broke Bill’s nose, but that ain’t hard. Killin’ a man though, that’s something else.”

  
“You talk too much, you know that?”

  
“And you’ve got more guts than brains, little girl steppin’ up like you’re ready for a fight. Is that what you want, huh?” He laughed, “A little wrestlin’ match with ole MacGuire?”

  
“I think you should watch your mouth.”

  
I was trying my best not to fight him. It wouldn’t be a good first impression upon everyone if I got into the habit of going toe to toe with anyone who said something a little mean. They might think I hadn’t a sense of humor. Yet, despite me using a tone that would normally stop a man cold, the fool just kept talking. “Watch me mouth, you say? What, you don’t think we all don’t know about your little tryst…”

  
“I don’t care what fantasies you indulge in to pass the time, Mr. MacGuire,” I interrupted him before he was able to go on some more about Marston, “But I cannot entertain this whimsical idea of yours that you could beat me in a fight.”

  
“Darlin,” He leaned in close, his nose almost brushing mine, “I would more than beat yah, I’d have yah on the ground beggin’ for me to give you more.”  
“You really think so.”

  
“Oh,” He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me against him, “I know so.”

  
The moment he touched me, all consideration for how it might appear if I were to snap him in half flew out of the window for the sake of asserting my dominance over the loud-mouthed fool. I had him face down on the ground before he even knew that he was in trouble. I shoved my knee into the small of his back and pinned one of his arms behind him. “What was that about putting me on the ground?”

  
“This means nothin!”

  
Someone wrapped their arms around my middle and physically lifted me off of Sean, who rolled over, trying not to show that he was breathing hard. “You ain’t allowed to kill him.”

  
John held me tight against him, my arms pinned to my sides. I wriggled and kicked my legs, trying to break free. “And why not?” I hissed.  
“He ain’t worth the effort.”

  
Sean got back to his feet. “Yeah, Marston, teach that new girl of yours who’s boss.”

  
John paused for a moment. “Then again,” he said, annoyed, “Maybe you should just kill him.”

 

John set me down and let me go. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I lunged towards the Irishman, but was again stopped in the act. Sean’s eyes widened, and he cackled, jumping back as Javier caught me around the waist. “No, hermana,” Javier chided, not able to hold back a laugh, “I put in a lot of effort saving his hide, you can’t kill him just yet.”

  
Everyone was laughing now. The moment that had seemed tense to me was just amusing for them. “Next time, darlin’,” Sean said, striding over towards the fire, “Your man won’t be around to ruin the fun.”

  
Javier turned me around and pushed me back into my seat before sitting down next me to. Abigail had disappeared from the table. At some point we would need to talk about Marston, but it didn’t seem like she was quite ready yet. Guilt felt like a rock in my stomach. John came over to the table and gave me a nod. “You alright?”

  
Arthur sat down at the table with a bowl of stew as loudly as possible, ruining what John was trying to make a moment out of. “I’d be careful, Marston, or you’ll end up eating dirt next.”

  
“Shut up, Arthur.”

  
“I am fine.” I said stiffly.

  
I sounded prickly to cover up the fact that I felt awkward. I was unsure of my place among them, and I didn’t know how else to respond. “Good.” John stood there awkwardly for a moment, “Well, I’ll talk to you later, I guess.”

  
My unwillingness to converse having successfully driven him off, I sighed heavily, putting my elbows on the table and resting my face in my hands. I tried not to think about how frustrated or tired I was. I was bruised and sore and slowly losing what little cool I had left. Javier and Arthur, to their credit, left me alone. They talked to each other as if I wasn’t there and for a few blissful moments, I enjoyed being ignored. However, Miss Grimshaw’s voice eventually cut through the peace. “Ms. North, are you done?”

  
“Yes, Miss Grimshaw, what can I do for you?” I replied, trying to keep the exhaustion out of my voice.

  
That woman could smell weakness. “Could you go get some more water for washing dishes?”

  
I pushed myself to my feet, shoving away all the wishes for indoor plumbing. Nothing was quite as good as manual labor when it came to forgetting your worries. “Of course, Miss Grimshaw.”

After a long restless night that consisted mainly of me staring up at a canvas canopy, mind racing and unable to asleep, I found myself welcoming the morning more eagerly than I would have expected to. The day consisted of Miss Grimshaw realizing the scale of the chores she could make me do. The men didn’t chop wood for the fire? Elaine could do that. Digging holes for a new hitching post? Elaine is capable. Broken wagon wheel? Elaine. She was quickly taking advantage of my fear and respect for her. While day one hadn’t been that bad, day two culminated in her convincing me to rebuild the chicken coop. They had bought an old coop and the supplies to repair it, but the task had been successfully evaded by all of the very capable men in camp. Having no knowledge of how to actually repair a coop, I managed to wrangle Uncle into instructing and got Reverend Swanson to help me with the tear down after a hell of a lot of coaxing. The task was made better by Marybeth. She had taken the shirt that I had torn the arm off of and made it sleeveless. She giggled when I put it on and flexed my arms for her, a silly gesture to show my appreciation for the freedom from sleeves on what was turning out to be a very hot day. Nothing like the giggles of a pretty girl to get you through a daunting task. She sat in the shade with Uncle, reading while we worked, claiming to be helping every time Miss Grimshaw began to hover. Swanson gave up around noon, after we had stripped most of the siding and had fixed both the wheels for the little wagon base. He mumble something about the heat and wandered off to go lay down in the shade somewhere out of sight. “Thanks for the help!” I called after him, only mildly sarcastic.

  
“How in the hell did you end up with a chore like this? Did you make Grimshaw that mad already?”

  
I turned to see Arthur standing by Uncle, hands on hips, admiring the progress. “Don’t be fooled, Mr. Morgan,” Uncle said, a bit of pride in his voice, “This here is a woman not afraid of hard work. She volunteered.”

  
“Well that’s good!” Arthur said, taking off his hat and jacket and putting them down next to Marybeth, “Balance out some of those who seem incapable of such things.”

  
Uncle spluttered a little bit, knowing the jab was aimed at him. He protested, saying something about his lumbago, and stomped off towards his usual napping spot. “He was helping.” I said, “He actually knows how to repair a chicken coop.”

  
“And you don’t? Capable woman like you, I assumed you knew everything.”

  
Arthur kicked away some of the old rotted planks we had removed and pulled the new planks closer to the coop along with the bucket of nails. He held out his hand for the hammer. “My expertise do not include chicken coop construction. I have helped renovate a castle though. I can be very handy with some brick and mortar.”

  
“I’m afraid we haven’t a need for something that… permanent.”

  
I stepped forward and began to undo the hinges of the roof. They were so rusted that they couldn’t be opened anymore. “Elaine,” Marybeth said, “You were talking about your… uh… fool’s errand as you called it?”

  
“Oh, yes,” Arthur laughed from the other side of the coop, “How is that going?”

  
“I am waiting for my things to arrive, and in the mean time I’m trying to prove that I am willing to put in my share of the work.”

  
“I think this will prove your worth,” he said, hammering a new plank in place, “Lord knows none of those lazy bastards would be caught dead doin’ this.” He paused a moment, “When do you think your things will arrive?”

  
Having removed one hinge, I moved on to the next one. “I don’t know.” I tossed the rusty hinge into the trash pile and carefully removed the roof panel, “Lenny brought my letter to the post office yesterday when he and Micah left to go ‘scouting’ or whatever. It all depends on how slow the post is, I suppose.” I looked over at Marybeth, “Where was I?”

  
“Hernándo Álvares.” She said, unable to hide her excitement.

  
She was enjoying my story. “Oh, yes, Señior Álvares. He was a captain in the military of New Spain but was not a very big proponent of Cortés. He hated him and he hated that he was in power. So when, Cortés went to Spain and was granted a new title and got himself a new wife, Álvares stole the amulet and…”  
“Amulet?” Arthur interrupted.

  
“In summation of what I have already explained to Miss Gaskill,” I explained with hollow gusto, “The goal of my ‘fool’s errand’, as I am referring to it, is the recovery of an amulet. It is of Egyptian origin, taken by Romans during the sacking of Alexandria, acquired by the Byzantines during the schism of the Empire, gifted to Jerusalem and looted by the Spanish during the Crusades. It was a treasure of the Crown and a gift to Cortés in good faith for his accomplishments in the conquering of Mexico.”

  
“What happened to Álvares?” Marybeth asked.

  
“Well that’s the question, isn’t it? What happened to Álvares and the amulet? Why would I think that it’s somewhere around here?” I switched sides with Arthur to work on the hinges on the other side of the coop, “We know for sure that Álvares led a group of men on an expedition somewhere seeking fortune and glory, and that he never returned to Mexico. There are several accounts of the Wapiti and other local tribes describing Spanish soldiers being in this area, even though the Spanish never had any real presence here. There is also the fact that three years ago, when the rail company was digging to fix a support beam on one of those big rail bridges up in the Grizzlies, they found an unmarked grave. One of the bodies had a chest plate that bore Álvares’s family crest.”

  
“But who killed them?” Arthur asked.

  
“A good question, Mr. Morgan. In all likelihood, it was one of the local tribes, but it is impossible to be sure. Most importantly, it’s proof they were here, and I’ve found a man who claims to be in possession of Álvares’s journal.”

  
Arthur shrugged. “Could be fake.”

  
“It’s possible, but it would be strange thing to claim to have. It wouldn’t be worth anything to anyone. It’s not as if Álvares’s story is common knowledge. It’s worth checking out at least.”

  
“So that’s your next move.”

  
I put the roof panel down gently and smiled at him, confident. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  
“Well,” he sighed, rolling up his sleeves, “Seeing as I will probably end up going with you, what are the chances of getting shot when getting that journal?”

  
“Very low,” I watched him take off his bandana and wipe his forehead before tossing it over with his jacket and hat, “And thank you for volunteering, Mr. Morgan.”

  
He unbuttoned his shirt halfway, giving in to the heat of the beating sun. I swallowed hard and tried not to stare. I felt my focus being tested again. “I just know that no one else is going to.”

  
I walked over to the stack of supplies and retrieved the new hinges. “And why is that?”

  
He smiled at me and laughed. “None of them are in the mood to get shot by O’Driscolls.”

  
I felt my cheeks grow hot. “I… that’s fair, given my track record, I suppose.”

  
I spent the next couple hours being tortured by Arthur and Marybeth. She sat in the shade, fanning herself and reading, scrunching her nose in this cute little way every time she came to a part she didn’t like. He just worked hard, his hairy chest glistening and his sweaty shirt clinging to his arms as he hammered planks into place. I was stuck between these urges: to kiss that cute little nose, or to rub myself against that sweaty chest. It was even more tiring to work hard and to get worked up at the same time. This camp would be the death of me. I skipped dinner in favor of just passing out. I couldn’t look at any more people and I couldn’t stand anymore veiled flirtation, or I was going to explode.

  
I awoke in the wee hours of the morning; the sun had not yet begun to lighten the horizon. Seizing my moment, I got up, quietly grabbing a change of clothes and snuck past the camp, making my way down the river. I could feel the sweat on my skin from yesterday and it was going to drive me insane if I didn’t do anything about it. When I reached the riverbank, I stripped down and waded in. The water was cold, but the sensation of being clean made up for it. Just as I stood, finally feeling satisfied and bathed, I heard the clatter of displaced river stones tumbling over each other. I froze. Predator or peeper? I turned slowly towards the source of the noise. There, on the riverbank, stood Charles with his back to me, rifle rested against his shoulder. “Concerned for my safety, Mr. Smith?” I called over as I waded back towards shore.

  
He glanced over his shoulder before quickly looking forward again. “Just making sure you weren’t running off.”

  
I laughed and picked up my shirt from yesterday, drying myself off. “Obviously, I am not.”

  
“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning slightly so that he was properly facing away as I got dressed.

  
“Well,” I said, buttoning up my shirt, “There is a way for you to make it up to me.”

  
“Make it up to you?” he repeated incredulously.

  
“Yes,” I said, “Make up for spying on me.”

  
I pulled on my pants, and now not worried about invading my privacy, he turned to face me. “I wasn’t spying.”

  
“Mhmm. Sure.” I sat down and pulled on my socks and boots, “All you gotta do is get me out of camp for the day and all will be forgiven.”

  
I wouldn’t say I was desperate, but I was definitely tired. Miss Grimshaw had an endless list of tasks. “You trying to dodge Grimshaw?”

  
“Please!” I begged, lacing up my boots, “Before she decides that I need to shoe a horse or build her a cabin.”

  
That got me a ghost of a smile. “You know how to use a bow?”

  
I stood. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  
He looked me over for a moment then sighed. “Meet me by the horses in ten minutes.”

  
I ran past him up the hill, but not so fast that I missed the soft chuckle he let out on my behalf. I was getting to him, I told myself, one silly act at a time. He had no idea how badly I wanted some time away from camp. While I had committed myself to the idea that living with the gang would be the best way to live out my life at the moment,it didn’t mean that I wasn’t overwhelmed by their style of communal living. There was no privacy, and I had nothing of my own at the moment. I was struggling a little; suffocating under the weight of the lack of personal space. It would be nice to have some quiet where I could actually hear myself think or breathe. I was ready to kill for a little peace and silence.

  
I did my best to not wake Arthur as I rummaged through the ammo wagon in search of a bow and quiver. Though, it wasn’t my fault that the man had decided to use the wagon with the loudest and most easily disturbed cargo as a support for his tent. As I jumped down, bow and arrows in hand, I felt eyes on me. Arthur was on his cot, propped up on his elbows, watching me. “What are you doing?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  
“I’m escaping before Miss Grimshaw can make me build anything else.” I whispered, creeping a little closer.

  
I didn’t understand how the man could sleep comfortably fully clothed. He still had his jacket on for goodness sake. He laughed softly and nodded towards the bow. “You know how to use that?”

  
“It’s been a long time since I’ve used one for hunting game, but I think the principle is the same.”

  
He shook his head. “You are strange woman, Elaine.”

  
My cheeks grew hot. It was weird to hear him say my first name after a couple of days of nothing but ‘Ms. North’. “Yes, well, you will be thanking me when the stew doesn’t take like ass tonight.”

  
He smiled and laid back down. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  
I found Charles by one of the hitching posts. He was trying to pet his horse, but Ontario was very rudely trying to shove his nose into the man’s pockets. He knickered and tossed his head as he noticed my approach, letting me know he hadn’t gotten any treats. I rubbed his nose. “No, no treats for the whiny baby.” I cooed.

  
Another small laugh from Charles. We mounted up and I followed him away from camp in silence. It was nice to just ride. No questions; no forced conversation; just some time for me to actually enjoy the country around us. In the quiet, I could finally relax and listen to the sounds of the forest. It was a nice respite from the excitement of the past few days.

  
Once we had found ourselves in the mountains, Charles gave me some curt instructions about where to go and where we should meet. We parted ways on foot, leaving the horses behind. In the forest, there was no sound except for the birds and my heartbeat. I felt unburdened as I crept through the trees, the morning light shining gently through the canopy above. There was no one to impress, no one trying to get me to do things, no one asking me invasive questions. It was just me and the cool morning air.

  
Several hours later, we returned to the horses three rabbits and two does richer. I had filled my bag to the brim with all the oregano, thyme and sage I could find. Charles’s pack was full of carrots. This fact did not go unnoticed by Ontario, who started nuzzling Charles’s back aggressively in an attempt to get to the vegetables. “Your horse… is very pushy.”

  
I laughed as said horse began to nibble on the pack containing the carrots. “He’s a big guy; he’s used to getting his way.”

  
Giving in, Charles pulled out a carrot. Ontario bobbed his head as he munched away, making contented snuffling noises. Charles moved smartly out of reach, stowing the carrots on the far side of his horse. “Why do you have such a large horse?” Charles asked, “You can barely mount him on your own.”

  
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and scratched Ontario’s nose, “He’s just the one I got. I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s got personality; he’s a good companion and he isn’t afraid of anything. This fella would fight a bear for me.”

  
“You’d make him fight a bear?”

  
We both mounted up. “You think I could make him do anything he didn’t want to?”

  
Ontario threw back his head and whinnied loudly, as if he were agreeing with me. “You’re right,” Charles said, leaning forward and patting my horse’s neck, “He is a good companion.”

  
Having bonded a over hunting and horses, Charles talked a little as we made our way back to camp. He told me that he had only been with the gang a few months now, but that he liked it well enough. I learned that his father had been a freeman and his mother, a native. His story was one that was becoming very familiar the more I heard the tales of the gang members; the tale of the Van der Linde gang: ‘I had wandered and drifted until I found Dutch’. He asked me where I had learned to hunt and I told him the truth: I had never learned to hunt, I just knew how to be quiet and listen and how to shoot and if I ever had to track something other than a person, it would be a very futile endeavor. That got another laugh from him.

  
By the time we reached camp, it was midafternoon. Pearson was very happy to see us and all the gifts we brought him. Charles left quickly after he deposited his kills and carrots, but I stayed. The cook seemed almost too excited when I offered to help clean the animals. He was an eager and patient teacher and didn’t even tease me when I said that I had never skinned anything before. I liked him well enough as one could, having only known him for three days; I liked his sailor’s sense of humor, which seemed under-appreciated by the rest of the gang. Pearson said it was because almost none of them had seen the ocean before. I listened politely as he told me tales of his short time in the Navy, trying to skin only the rabbit and not my hand. What we had caught today would be part of tomorrow’s stew, he explained. I didn’t let my disappointment show, not wanting Pearson to think it was directed towards him. Tonight’s stew would still taste like ass, but hopefully Arthur wouldn’t remember my promise from this morning. As Pearson went to go stir the pot, Miss Grimshaw swooped in, looking over my shoulder as I emptied the herbs I had collected from my bag. “He’ll never let you put those in.” She whispered.

  
“Why not?”

  
“Pride.” She sniffed, “Best way is to sneak them in.”

  
She left as Pearson returned to the table. I indicated the herbs, “I got these for you too!”

  
He smiled warmly, “Why thank you! If we dry them, they’ll keep for a long time. I can show you how to do that after dinner if you’d like?”

  
I shrugged, shoving down the sense of satisfaction I felt at proving Grimshaw wrong. “Sure! I have few practical cooking skills; I’ll take any instruction I can get.”

  
All it took was a bit of flattery and niceness to budge a stubborn man, and after dinner I spent the rest of the daylight hours wrapping herb bundles with Pearson as he told me about how he could play the accordion and his dream was to one day be a business owner. I once again went to bed and slept like a rock. Perhaps hard work was doing me some good after all.

  
The next day, I spent the morning under Karen’s tutelage, once again attempting to learn how to mend socks. It was frustrating: I could wield swords and staves and daggers but was being bested by a damn needle. “You just gotta keep your wrist loose.” She said, repositioning my hands, “You ain’t stabbin’ it, you’re mending it.”

  
Javier came over and dropped a letter in my lap. “This was at the post office for you.”

  
I gave him a grateful smile and put down the poor sock. I opened the envelope, already knowing who it was from. I’d recognize that terrible handwriting anywhere. “Be at the station tomorrow at one o’clock. I will bring you your shit. Be there or be square. Love you kind of, Connall.”

  
The letter was dated as of yesterday. “Karen, do you know what time it is?”

  
“Hey, Hosea,” She called over to the old man, who was at the table nearby, reading, “What time is it?”

  
He pulled out his watch. “It’s quarter til twelve.” He replied.

  
Karen looked at me. “It’s 11:45.”

  
I laughed and shook my head. “Thank you.”

  
“You know, I think Uncle and Arthur are taking the wagon into town, we could go with them.”

  
Marybeth put down her book. “Oh, yes, please.” She begged, “Anything to be away from camp.”

  
I stood, “Well, let’s get going then, my dears.”

  
Just as Karen had said, Arthur and Uncle were prepping a wagon to head into town. I whistled to Ontario and he came trotting over as Marybeth joined us with Tilly. “If Miss Grimshaw ain’t gonna miss you, I don’t see the harm.” Arthur said when asked if we could go into town with them.

  
The girls all gave out little squeals of triumph and got into the back of the wagon. I mounted up and pulled along side the driver’s seat. “Too good to ride with us, Ms. North?” Uncle teased.

  
“I don’t know how long I’m going to be.” I assured him, “I wouldn’t want to hold you all up.”

  
“How considerate of you.”

  
I rode alongside the wagon as we made our way into town. Even though I had escaped camp the day before, the change in pace was nice. I found the prospect of returning to civilization to be a relief. One can only stand staring at trees for so long before they miss the noise and bustle of a town. Arthur begrudgingly made conversation with Uncle while the girls sang a song. It was… nice. It almost felt routine. I found it comforting. The moment was broken as a wagon went rushing past us, the driver obviously having lost control of his horses. The leads snapped and the draft animals balked away from the wagon, which slowly rolled to a stop. On of the horses took off over the tracks, spooked and anxious. “Is one of you gonna get that feller’s horse?” Karen asked, as Arthur pulled the wagon to a halt.

  
“Oh, I got lumbago,” Uncle said, “It’s very serious!”

  
I rolled my eyes and moved to dismount, but Arthur waved for me to stay where I was. I settled back into my saddle as he climbed down off the wagon. He went to talk to the driver while the girls giggled and chastised Uncle. I watched him make his way slowly across the tracks, talking to the horse as he went, his voice soothing, in an effort to calm the beast. I found myself mesmerized at how easily it let him walk up to it and pat its neck. It followed him willing back to its owner. The driver thanked Arthur profusely, but the outlaw just shrugged off the praise. He climbed back onto the wagon and we were on our way again. “You are turning into a regular fairy godmother there, Arthur.” Uncle teased.

  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur demanded.

  
“It means you got a heart.” Karen said, “A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one.”

  
I chewed my lip trying not to laugh. “And you haven’t, you repulsive old lizard.” She added, glaring at the back of Uncle’s head.

  
“Lizards have hearts!” He said defensively, then turned to Arthur, “Well, Arthur, I’m proud of you.”

  
“To be honest,” Arthur said, “If you lot hadn’t been here… I probably woulda robbed him.”

  
They all laughed as we crossed over the tracks. I craned my neck to look at the front of the post station. There, leaning against one of the hitching posts, was Connall, pretending to smoke a cigarette. He spotted me as soon as I did him and he waved. “Hello there, stranger!” He called.

  
I slowed and watched the wagon move past me. Arthur tipped his hat and I nodded in return. I would meet up with them later. The girls all waved at Connall as they pulled down the road. Karen even blew him a kiss. Rolling my eyes, I dismounted and walked over to him, leading Ontario behind me. “I see you’ve found yourself in some interesting company.” My old partner teased.

  
Rolling my eyes, I snatched the cigarette from him and took a long drag. He didn’t smoke; he was just letting the thing burn for show. He watched, giving me a look I knew to be exasperation. “Then again,” He said, “You’ve always been good at making friends.”

  
“Isn’t that how we got here in the first place?” I mused, watching the bustling auction yard across the way, “My inexplicable ability to make friends and insert myself into situations where I shouldn’t be?”

  
He looked away, obviously uncomfortable. “We don’t have to talk about it.” He mumbled.

  
“Yes, lets just pretend that you chose to live it up in Saint Denis and become a business man, and I definitely chose the life of a forest-dwelling delinquent.”

  
“Elaine…”

  
I gave him a hard look. “Don’t ‘Elaine’ me, Connall. I made my choice, and the Order made theirs. I’m sorry your stuck in the middle, but I am not about to pretend that everything is going to be alright.” I looked back over at the sheep, living their simple, blissfully ignorant lives, “It’s not going to be the same ever again. Jay was right: we are out-growing the Order’s rules.”

  
“Jay lives in an underground bunker, sitting on a hoard of dusty old relics.” Connall crossed his arms and leaned back against the post again, his shoulder brushing against mine reassuringly, “I wouldn’t go and apply their wisdom liberally.”

  
I took another drag of the cigarette, then flicked it to the ground, grinding it into the dirt with my boot. “They’re outlaws.” I said softly.

  
He sighed. “You did always have a soft spot for the down trodden and mean.”

  
I elbowed him in the ribs. “Okay,” He put up his hands in surrender, “Fine, you’re right. I forgot the soft spot for desperate fools.”

  
He moved very quickly out of range. “Be serious, Con.” I pleaded.

  
Connall shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “What do you want me to say? Condone you running around with thieves and murderers? You… you are a thief… and a spy, sort of… and it’s not like we’re saints, but… Elaine, I’m not allowed to be encouraging, or helpful. I’m not even allowed to be here, talking to you really. I… it’s…”

  
“Just spit out, Con.”

  
He shook his head. “All I have to say is… well, you could be doing worse.”

  
I stared at him, unable to suppress my surprise. “Worse?”

  
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “The truth is, as long as you’re happy, I don’t give a shit. Running around, playing cowboy… I’d prefer you do that then be crawling back to the Order; bending over backward to fulfill their wishes. I’m going to say this only once,” He rested his hands on my shoulders, “You did what you should’ve done, and they have done wrong by you.”

  
I couldn’t help but smile up at him. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know that Connall cared, but it was nice to hear him defend me. “I did break the rules.”

  
“Yeah, well, they were stupid rules.”

  
I laughed. “Alright, let’s…” I straightened and looked around, pulling away before he could try and give me an awkward hug, “Let’s not talk about it. Where’s my stuff?”

  
He jerked his thumb towards a wagon on the other side of the station. A couple of men were slowly loading up a couple of crates, bags and trunks onto it. “Took them five minutes to get it off the train, but it’s going the take them an hour to load the wagon.”

  
We started making our way over towards the wagon slowly. “I should’ve told them the faster the move the more I’ll pay.”

  
“Speaking of pay…”

  
He groaned, rolled his eyes and pulled a money clip from his pocket. “Here’s some of it, the rest is locked in your trunk…” he pulled it out of my reach as I grabbed for it, “Don’t let your new friends rob you blind, okay? This is all of it.”

  
“You worry too much.”

  
“And you don’t worry at all. It evens out in the end.” He smiled, handing over the money, but grabbed my hand as I took it, “That’s why we make good partners.”

  
I gave him a forlorn look. “We aren’t partners anymore, Con.”

  
“We’ll always be partners.” He said firmly, “No matter what, I will always have you’re back. Say the word and I will sign up for my tribunal. I mean, I won’t be nice about it, but I’ll do it.”

  
He let my hand slip from his, having said his peace. I cleared my throat, trying not to seem overwhelmed by the sentiment. “So, what do you have for me?”

  
Connall chuckled and leaned against the cart as the men loaded the final trunk. “Lots of stuff. Tent, cot, clothes, weapons, a few special things I’ll let you see for yourself, and a little research I have been doing on your behalf while you have been out here securing passage for yourself.” He patted one of the trunks. “This baby can hold so many secrets.” I rolled my eyes as he laughed at his own joke. “It’s a gift from Gwyn, and it only opens with your permission, so you needn’t worry about any sticky fingers or lock picks.”

  
I stepped closer, examining it. It was mahogany with a rich dark finish and the wrought iron straps on the tops and sides were emblazoned with stags running through a forest. It was very ornate, and I would definitely catch some flack for it back at camp. “I do have something unpleasant as well.”

  
Connall pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it up. “I have your official sentencing papers. I am supposed to read them to you and blah blah blah.” He shoved the envelope into one of the bags, “I have no intention of wasting my breath or your time in doing so. We know what it says. We have little use for such bullshit, shall I go on?”

  
“No,” I snorted, “I get the idea.”

  
He paid the men and they walked away, mummering something about city folk. “Oh,” Connall held up a finger, indicating I should pause for a moment, “I nearly forgot.”

  
He pulled one of the bags closer to the edge of the wagon and rummaged through it before producing a hat box. Removing the contents, he tossed the box nonchalantly into the wagon and turned to face me. “A gift, for my cowgirl.”

  
It was a black gambler’s hat. Connall stepped forward and jammed it onto my head playfully. “I just want you to fit in, you know?”

  
I removed it, rolling of my eyes, to get a better look. The material, which I couldn’t identify, was sturdy and held its shape well. “I’ll do my best not to lose it.”

  
“That’s the spirit.”

  
Connall led the cart horse and I led Ontario down the street, walking slowly and talking about his new life as a business man in Saint Denis. He hated it, spending every day negotiating requests for rich people who wanted various paintings or relics to add to their home collections. “Utterly intolerable.” He said, huffing a little, “They all act as if they have the right to own history. So polite and sickly sweet and they get this stupid conspiratorial look when they say something racist about the culture they wish the defile. I don’t understand how Leo ever managed to do this as his job.”

  
“It sounds like you’re being punished just as much as I am.”

  
“Oh, no,” He said quickly, “No, I am enjoying myself: indoor plumbing, fine dining, catching up on all the reading I’ve ever wanted to do. They have this posh theater that I’ve visited a few times. I am only suffering during business hours. You, however, get to live in the dirt,” he gave Ontario a wary look, “And ride a horse that looks like it could eat you.”

  
“You leave Ontario alone. He’s a good horse; scares off the assholes.”

  
“Whatever.”

  
He stopped in front of the gunsmith, the cart horse waiting patiently as he stepped away. “I had ordered something for you, just wait out there while I go inside.”

  
I watched him walk up onto the porch and disappear through the door, curious as to what he would have gotten me. Eager to see the surprise, I turned and hopped up to sit on the hitching post just outside the shop. I looked around, seeing what trouble was stirring in Valentine today. People walked up and down the street, dodging the bustling carts. Shouting floated over on the wind from the auction yards behind us and horses whinnied down at the livery. I heard Ontario knicker and watched him trot right past me towards someone familiar walking up the road. “Hey,” I called after him, “Where do you think you’re going.”

  
He went up and butt his head right up against the man’s chest. The man just chuckled and rubbed his neck obliging before continuing to make his way towards me. “Could you use some assistance, ma’am.”

  
I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him an accusatory look. “Now, Mr. Morgan, did you walk all the way up this street because you were feeling helpful, or nosy?”  
Arthur leaned up against the hitching post next to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “Nosy, mostly.” He admitted. “Speaking of which, why you are sitting out here all by yourself?”

  
I shrugged. “Seeing how long it takes before some thief starts sniffing around.”

  
“And?”

  
“And you showed up, so I guess that was, oh,” I shrugged, “All of five minutes.”

  
He shook his head, trying very hard not to smile. “Better me, then someone else, I guess.”

  
“Better someone else. You have already charmed my horse. How am I supposed to defend against that?”

  
Arthur gave in to my humor and chuckled softly, then nodded towards the cart. “You bring enough for everyone?”

  
I looked over at my stack of things and opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted when Connall stepped out of the shop. We both turned to look back at him. He looked at us, suddenly sheepish, gripping a gun case to his chest. It had a ribbon around it as if it were a present. Arthur turned to me. “That gun has a bow on it.”

  
I shook my head, my cheeks growing hot, embarrassed on Connall’s behalf. “I… I don’t even know.”

  
“I didn’t ask them to do this.” Connall said defensively, “It’s just… I… just take it, will you? I had it special ordered.”

  
“Is this your man?” Arthur asked.

  
I looked back at Connall, giving a ‘you’re embarrassing me’ glare. “Most definitely not.”

  
“Sir,” Connall said, stepping into the street and moving to stand in front of us, “You are a fool to think that anyone in their right mind would hitch themselves to that wagon.”

  
He was responding to the look I’d given him with an ‘I got this’ look of his own. “Thanks. That’s rude.” I said.

  
“Don’t be fooled, Mr.…”

  
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “Morgan.”

  
“Mr. Morgan. She may have a pretty face and have the lovely voice of a songbird, but she is not worth the bullets and trouble she attracts.”

  
I looked to Arthur. “He just doesn’t like the excitement.”

  
“Near death experiences are not exciting.” Connall said in exasperation as he set the gun case in the wagon, “And one day, you will realize that, and until then, my dear…” He walked up to the cart horse and began to guide it down the street again, “My statement stands.”

  
“How do you know this man?”

  
“He was my partner.”

  
“Partner?” He asked, intrigued.

  
I sighed. “Yes. It was his job to keep me out of trouble.”

  
“It still is!” Connall interjected.

  
We both stood and followed after him, Ontario trotting along behind us. “Lovely voice?” Arthur asked me.

  
“Have you not heard her sing yet?” Connall called over his shoulder, “Her musical talent is one of her few redeeming qualities.”

  
Arthur was about to say something when Marybeth came up on my other side. She snaked her arm through mine. “So,” She said, “Who is this gentleman friend of yours?”

  
“I don’t know what his name is,” Arthur told her, “But he’s... strange.”

  
She looked a bit crest fallen. “Says the man who sleeps in an ammo wagon.” I said, in Connall’s defense.

  
“Is he your brother?” Marybeth asked before Arthur could respond to my quip about his journal.

  
“He’s like a brother.” I mused, “We have known each other a long time.”

  
She leaned in close. “He’s very handsome.” She whispered.

  
“Unfortunately.” I whispered back.

  
Connall guided the cart up along side the gang’s wagon and walked around to start transferring my things. Marybeth squeezed my arm. “Do you have anything good in there.”

  
“I don’t know yet.” I told her, “I didn’t pack them.”

  
“Ain’t that a luxury,” She said, guiding me over to where Uncle was sitting in front of the general store, “To not have to pack your own things.”

  
“You can unpack them with me, if you’d like.”

  
“That would be fun!”

  
She let go of my arm and sat down next to Uncle. “Find anything interesting, Ms. Gaskill?” Arthur asked from behind me.

  
I turned to find him helping Connall, much to my surprise. Marybeth explained how she had slipped into a rich family’s house and had heard talk of a train full of rich folk making its way through the country. “Are trains very profitable?” I asked, leaning up against a porch post.

  
“They can be,” Uncle said, taking a nip from his flask, “If you choose the right train.”

  
“Interesting.” I looked up the street, scanning the crowd of people moving about, “Where’s Tilly and Karen.”

  
“I left them at the saloon.” Marybeth said, “I think they were fishin for some men to rob.”

  
It was then that I spotted Tilly across the street being dragged by the arm towards the alley next to the hotel by a tall, very unhappy looking man. “Arthur.” I called, stepping off the porch.

  
He was already moving past me. “I got this; you stay here.”

  
I watched him jog over the to alleyway and disappear out of sight. Behind me, Marybeth had drifted over and was flirting with Connall. While part of me was thinking about she was probably about to take his wallet, I was more focused on Tilly and Arthur and whether or not I would hear a gunshot any second now. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as they both emerged from the alley. He directed her towards us and marched down the way and into the hotel. “Are you alright?” I asked as she stepped up onto the porch.

  
“I’m fine.” She said sharply, sitting down next to Uncle.

  
I sat down next to her anyway, just in case, and then turned my attention to Marybeth and Connall. She had him blushing already. He was an easy target: easy on the eyes, easy to embarrass, easy to distract from the hand that was reaching in his pocket. I thought about whether I should tell him, or let Marybeth have her prize. “Hey, Uncle,” I said, turning to look at the old man, “Did you remember to pick up Pearson’s leather working tools?”

  
He paused; flask pressed to his lips. That meant ‘no’. “I’ll go get them.” I said, “You just stay in your comfy seat, nurse that lumbago.”

  
Tilly’s laughter followed me as I stood and walked inside the general store. Ten minutes and a set of tanner’s tools later, I stepped back outside just in time to see a man on a horse staring at Arthur, who was leading a battered looking Karen towards the wagon. “Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” The man asked.

  
Arthur turned and looked at him. “Me? No sir. Ain’t from there.”

  
“Oh, you were.” Accused the man, “Well, I definitely saw you. With a bunch of fellers.”

  
“Me? No.” Arthur shook his head, obviously doing his best to keep his cool, “Impossible. Listen, buddy. Come here for a minute.”

  
Arthur began to slowly approach him. “I saw you…” the man insisted, getting visibly nervous.

  
“Come here.” Arthur said again.

  
“Come on, get!”

  
The man took off as Arthur stepped towards him, spooked. The outlaw looked back at the group. “I don’t like this.” Uncle said.

  
“Me neither.”

  
Arthur told Uncle to take the girls home and then jumped on the closest horse, making chase. The closest horse was Ontario. I sighed heavily and walked down the porch, following them to the wagon. Uncle climbed up into the driver’s seat as Connall was dutifully helping the girls into the back. “You ladies have a lovely evening.” He said in his most charming voice, “Oh, and Ms. Gaskill?”

  
“Yes?” Marybeth replied sweetly.

  
“Can I have my wallet back? You may keep the contents, but I am a little attached to the accessory itself.”

  
She handed it over, cheeks bright red. I smiled but made no comment and walked up to Uncle, handing him the toolset. “I still have business to attend to here, but if Arthur returns to camp with my horse…”

  
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t leave you stranded.” Tilly said, “We will remember; the old lizard won’t.”

  
“Oh we’re back on the lizard thing now, are we?”

  
They continued to go back and forth as the wagon pulled away and down the road. I waved goodbye, then began to walk with Connall back towards the station. “Nice girls.” He said after a few minutes of silence, “They’ve got sticky fingers, but they seem nice.”

  
“They are very nice girls.”

  
“And that Mr. Morgan…”

  
“What about Arthur?”

  
Connall shrugged. “You seemed very chummy when I came out to the shop.”

  
“Chummy?”

  
“Yeah,” He waggled an eyebrow, “You know, like…”

  
My eyes narrowed “Like what?”

  
“Like…” he snorted, “I don’t know; like he was ready to beat the shit out of me every time I said something bad about you. I forget, sometimes, how good you are with people; inciting trust in even the most distrustful. I mean, they’re outlaws, and you’ve only known them a couple of days and…”

  
“I’ve known them almost a week.”

  
“Oh, I’m sorry, a week, and they are already ready to throw down for you.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently, “It’s good to know that you’ll be alright.”

  
I patted the hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “You shouldn’t worry so much. It’s not as if I’m going around punching bears or assassinating the capitalist elite.”

  
“Not yet, but who knows what you’ll be doing next week?”

  
He gave me a light kiss on the cheek and let me go, walking backwards towards the station and giving me a dashing smile. “Have fun in that mansion all by yourself.” I called after him.

  
He laughed. “And you let Ms. Gaskill know I want her to buy something nice!”

  
I watched him go up the steps and disappear into the station before turning and heading back the way we had come, mulling over what Connall had said. Maybe I would be alright, no matter how unlikely that sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions of how I can do better, let me know!


	4. Don't Take Your Guns to Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shenanigans ensue.

I stepped out of the livery as the sun began to set, ticking off my checklist of things to do in my head. I had started a line of credit with the gunsmith to ensure an ease of resupplying specialty ammo that I may require; I had settled my tab at the hotel and livery and had ordered some writing supplies from the general store. I must have done at least twenty laps of the auction yards and no one had come for me yet. All I had left to do was settle my tab at Smithfield’s and if I was still stranded, I figured I would just walk all the way back to camp.

  
The air had grown cold as dusk fell upon Valentine. Making my way up the street, I felt eyes on me. There, standing on the hotel porch, stood a couple of O’Driscolls, eyeing me up like the couple of predators they were. I quickened my pace towards the saloon, pushing past a crowd of people who were loitering on the front steps and ducking inside. The more people I had around me, the less I would have to worry about them. It was loud and boisterous inside. The music played, and the sounds of conversation filled the space. Before I could make my way to the bar, I heard my name. “North! Hello! Ms. North!”

  
I looked around, moving through the crowd, but saw no one I recognized nor anyone who seemed to recognize me. “Elaine,” another voice said more harshly, “Hello!”

  
I knew that voice. I looked up to the second floor, putting my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. Arthur and Lenny looked down at me, waving, with goofy smiles on their faces, hanging over the railing. “Good evening, gentlemen.” I called up to them.

  
I did my best not to think about how I had been walking around like an idiot while they were here getting drunk. Turning, I made my way towards the bar and tried to remember what Arthur’s horse looked like. As I opened my mouth to speak to the bartender, I found myself flanked on either side. “Shouldn’t you be back at camp?” Lenny asked, slurring his words as he leaned against the bar, “It’s not really safe for you to be out here by yourself.”

  
I swallowed a smart remark about being able to take care of myself and gave him a hollow smile. “I would be, had someone not stolen my horse.” I said, elbowing Arthur in the ribs.

  
Lenny grabbed my arm, his expression very concerned. “What are you gonna do about your horse? I’ll get him for you.” He insisted, “You just say the name and I will…”

  
“Arthur Morgan.” I said flatly.

  
The young man blinked a couple times, processing this information, before glaring across me at Arthur. “Arthur,” He said, accusatorily, “Why did you steal this woman’s horse?”

  
Morgan shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He ordered another round, “It’s a good horse. You’ll have to fight me for ‘em.”

  
I motioned for the bartender to skip me. “I wouldn’t do that Arthur,” Lenny warned, “You wouldn’t want to end up like Bill…” he laughed, “Or Sean.”

  
Arthur threw back his shot. “I could take her.”

  
“Taking my horse was strike one, Mr. Morgan. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the game of baseball, but you reach three and then bad things start to happen.”

  
“Bad things.” Arthur parroted mockingly.

  
“Name the place, Arthur Morgan and I will show you what the dirt tastes like there.”

  
Lenny watched us, wide-eyed, as Arthur stared me down. “You just say whatever the hell you want, don’t you?”

  
"You’re just realizing this now?”

  
He leaned in, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me through his drunken haze. “We haven’t known each other long; I forget how bold you are.”

  
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Mr. Morgan, I assure you.”

  
“Please excuse this fool,” Lenny said, his hand still on my arm, “Us Van der Linde boys are not all as bad as him.”

  
“He’s not that bad,” I glanced over my shoulder as the man in question downed his drink, “He’s better than John, I can say with confidence.”

  
“Is that so?”

  
Arthur was suddenly very close behind me. “Speaking of John,” Lenny said, “I was wondering… well, we all were wondering…”

  
They were both leaning in close, making me a little nervous. “Yes, Mr. Summers? Spit it out.” I commanded, bracing myself for the question I did not want to hear.

  
“He said… he said some things about you and… well, I … I mean we were…”

  
“Lenny wants to know if John’s been lying.” Arthur clarified for his struggling friend.

  
I turned to Arthur. “And what has John been saying?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  
Arthur was suddenly just as incapable of forming a sentence as Lenny. I sighed and turned, facing to look out at the saloon, leaning back against the bar. I motioned for them both to lean in closer. “Are you both wondering if you get me drunk, you’ll have the same thing to boast about?”

  
Lenny blushed deeply and spluttered something that sounded like a ‘no’. He walked away quickly, excusing himself. Arthur remained, a sly smile on his lips. “You don’t seem that easy.” He said.

  
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re smarter than you look, Mr. Morgan.”

  
“No one’s ever accused me of that before. But really...”

  
Arthur was again leaning in very close. I told myself that it was so that he could hear me over the din of the crowd. “Did you kiss John?”

  
I crossed my arms across my chest, defensive. “Why are you concerned? Why are you all so interested in knowing every single little detail?”

  
“You’re new,” He said, “And pretty. They all just…” He laughed, giving me a teasing look, “They all want a taste, and they’re jealous Marston got there first.”

  
“You think I’m pretty?” I asked, matching his tease with my own.

  
“Have to be blind not to; have to be a fool to not know you’re trouble too.” He leaned in even closer, the brims of our hats touching, “You’ve got that look in your eye.”

  
“What kind of look, Mr. Morgan?”

  
“You eat fools alive.”

  
I laughed, staring into those pretty eyes of his. “And are you a fool, Arthur?” I asked, unable to help myself.

 

He stared at me a moment, looking as if his brain had stopped working. Then, all in a blur, there was a hand on the back of my neck and then lips against mine, shattering every expectation I had for how this conversation was going to end. My hat fell back off my head, the stampede string catching at my throat. I closed my eyes reflexively, no matter how in shock my brain was, my body knew what to do. I even leaned into it, hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders… and then just as fast, he had pulled away and was stepping back. “I am… I am a fool. Excuse me.”

  
With that, he disappeared into the crowd, calling out for Lenny. I couldn’t fight the feeling of satisfaction that welled up inside me and heated my cheeks. There was something about flustering grown men that I truly enjoyed.

  
A few minutes later, after finally getting the bartender’s attention long enough to settle my tab, I found myself once again flanked by Arthur and Lenny. They spoke to each other in the manner that drunk friends often do, speaking in half-formed and incoherent sentences that the other somehow comprehends to be a language of some sort. I slowly backed away, moving towards the front of the saloon, telling myself that they would only need one horse to get back and I was pretty sure Arthur rode a buckskin mare, but as I looked out the front windows, I could see the two O’Driscolls loitering on the porch across the street, watching. They were persistent bastards; I’d give them that.

  
The night went past in a blur of drunken ridiculousness, leaving me feeling more like a babysitter with each round of liquor. Arthur spent most of the evening losing Lenny, dragging me about to help me find him. At one point, very late in the evening, we found ourselves upstairs. “He’s around here somewhere.” Arthur assured me, slurring his words. “Maybe in here?”

  
He went up to a door, obviously not hearing the noises coming from inside the room, forgetting that these were the rooms were where the working girls conducted their business. I had no intention of seeing what was going on behind that door. “Lenny is definitely not in there, Arthur.”  
“But maybe he is.” Arthur insisted, turning the doorknob.

  
I lunged forward to stop him but was too late. The occupants paused in their… activities to yell at us and Arthur quickly shut the door. Not quickly enough though. I would never forgive Arthur Morgan for making me see an old man’s hairy butt. That was strike two.

  
We found Lenny downstairs, talking to the bartender. The night continued. Arthur tried to drown a man; Lenny danced on the bar; they line danced with a number of other patrons; Lenny and Arthur had a slap fight. Finally, when there was almost no one left in the saloon, the fools charged out into the night, hooting and hollering and giggling as they went. I followed them, nervously, but found that the O’Driscolls had given up their stake-out.

  
I watched the two drunken outlaws stumble around the street, trying to evade the deputies who had appeared to wrangle them up. Lenny lasted barely a minute, but Arthur was surprisingly nimble. He ducked down an alleyway, and I took a few steps into the street to watch him as he went. He dramatically dodged barrels that weren’t in his way and took a sharp turn, evading the deputy that had tried to cut him off…. Then I heard him eat it. He’d probably hit a barrel or something.  
“Do you know these two fools, ma’am?”

  
I turned to find the sheriff addressing me. “Yes, sir,” I said, politely, “But they don’t mean any harm, they’re just drunk.”

  
He raised an eyebrow. “There is a fine for drunken violence in this town, Miss. I’m going to hold them overnight. You may come collect them in the morning.”

  
Strike three was getting arrested. That bastard owed me. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  
He tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss.” He said, as if it wasn’t only a few hours until sunrise.

  
I watched the deputies drag Lenny and Arthur down the road towards the jail before turning and making my way to the hotel. The clerk was ever so willing to take my money for another evening’s stay. As the sun rose, so did Valentine, and I thankfully did not find myself walking the streets alone. The sun was barely above the horizon and there were already carts and wagons bustling about. I made my way up the road, reluctant to collect my outlaw companions. I had little other choice, however, save walking all the way back to camp. At the jail, the sheriff let me in reluctantly. “A lady such as yourself should not be wasting your time with these fools,” he said, “I know you’ve been looking for men to hire, but…”

 

I tore down my posting from the board on the wall. “Sheriff,” I said, interrupting him and turning to give him the most pretentious and domineering look I could give, “I am quite capable of handling myself. Now how much is their bail?”

  
As if on que, the two delinquents began to stir. Lenny woke up first, clutching his head and blinking hard at the sunlight that filtered in through the windows. “Arthur,” he said after getting his bearings, “Arthur, are you alive?”

  
“I want to die.” Came the reply.

  
“What happened?” the younger man asked, sitting up slowly.

  
“I don’t know.” Arthur moaned in response.

  
There wasn’t a single part of me that felt sorry for the hangover they were experiencing in that moment. They had brought this upon themselves. I walked over to the cells, interrupting their pained conversation. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  
They both groaned loudly, looking as if I were the last person they wanted to see. I held out the money, eyes still fixed on the two fools, and felt it leave my fingers. “I believe this will suffice, Sheriff?”

  
I heard a desk drawer open and close, and then the sheriff stepped past me. “Always a pleasure, Miss.” He said, opening the cells.

  
Arthur and Lenny shuffled towards the door. I followed them slowly, pondering whether I should return their wallets or not. I had confiscated them so that no one else would, but I wondered if I should just keep them, as recompense. As soon as we were outside, Lenny doubled over and vomited over the edge of the porch. “Seems about right.” I said, patting him on the back gently.

  
“You didn’t have to do that.” Arthur said, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand.

  
“Oh,” I said, my voice flat and unamused, “But I did. It was either this, or walking.” I glanced between them, “You two should be glad I didn’t wear more comfortable boots.”

  
“We’ll pay you back.” Lenny said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  
I sighed and pulled their wallets out of my pocket. “No need, gentlemen, this trip was all on you.”

  
They both groaned and snatched their wallets from my grip. Lenny shuffled down the street to retrieve the horses. I watched him go, wondering how much money I had just given up. “What happened last night?” Arthur asked, groggily.

  
“A lot of things.” I said vaguely

  
“Did we… did I…”

  
“Make an utter fool of yourself?” I suggested, “Yes, yes you did. I’ve never seen a grown man such as yourself dance on a bar before.”

  
He laughed but winced at the sound of his own loud voice. “If that was the worst…”

  
I cut him off. “It was not. Suffice to say you owe me.”

  
Arthur was about to argue when Lenny returned, a set of reins in either hand. “Can we walk for a little bit?” He asked.

  
“That’s fine.” I said, stepping forward and taking the reins he held out to Arthur.

  
I started walking down the road without even checking to see if they were following because I knew that they would. Mostly, I just didn’t really want to talk to them. Last night had been… strange. I hated the limbo of being acquaintances. Strangers and friends could be berated or made fun of with little consequence but in the middle was all awkward politeness and sideways glances to dispel the built up need to banter. All I could do was just walk away, unsure of what to say and hope that the conversation would fade. “Why did you stay anyway?” Lenny called after me.

  
“I didn’t know which horses were yours.” I replied, not looking back, “I wouldn’t want to have left someone else just as stranded as I was.”

  
I could hear them following behind me, their pace quick to catch up. “You could’ve just…”

  
“There were also the O’Driscolls that spent the night prowling outside the saloon.” I added harshly.

  
There was also the fact that I would have never been able to steal someone’s horse. That would be just as bad stealing someone’s dog, and what kind of person does that? A hand firmly gripped my upper arm and I turned just in time to watch Arthur pry his horse’s reins from my hands. “What, and you didn’t fight ‘em?”

  
“I do try to avoid shooting people in the middle of town, Mr. Morgan.” My eyes narrowed, giving him the stink eye, “Besides, it was mildly enjoyable watching your drunken stupidity.”

  
“Is that right?”

  
We had stopped walking now, standing in the middle of the road, staring each other down while Lenny apologized to the carts and riders that were trying to get past us. “It is, Mr. Morgan.” I insisted, “Though I must ask, do you do that every time you are trying to comfort a friend after a near-death experience, or do you just really enjoy being foolish?”

  
“Who told you why we were there?”

  
“You did. Lenny did.” I laughed lightly and started walking again before we were run down by an angry coach driver, “Multiple times, in fact, because you kept forgetting that you had told me.” I glanced back at him over my shoulder, shooting him a smug grin, “So I imagine you are going to take your time going back to camp.”

  
Lenny had abandoned the idea of standing with us and shouted goodbye as he rode past. Arthur walked beside me, leading his horse, and both watched him ride away from Valentine. “And why would that be?”

  
“You said that Micah had been arrested in Strawberry. I am going to Strawberry now that I have my things. I imagine that Dutch will ask me to take someone with me, with every intention of freeing Micah, and if I have learned anything about Dutch over the past few days, its that he always asks you do to the important things.” I shrugged, “And you don’t like Micah very much so…”

  
I let the sentence trail off. “What if Dutch asks you to go by yourself? Save Micah by yourself?”

  
“He wouldn’t do that.”

  
Arthur gave me a sideways glance, “You don’t think Dutch is going to test you?”

  
“Oh, Mr. Van der Linde no doubt has a mind to test me in many ways, but it wouldn’t be smart to have me save Micah by myself. I’ve only seen him a couple of times and I doubt he remembers me. He’s just as likely to kill me as let me rescue him.”

  
Arthur stopped and sighed, then wordlessly mounted his horse “You’re probably right.” He said, his horse walking slowly alongside me, “I should take my time going back.”

  
“Well, have fun with that.” I said, flatly.

  
“You really think I’m just gonna leave you here?”

  
“I have learned to expect nothing but the worst from people lately, and that includes you.” I looked away and kept walking, “I had every intention of walking back last night, had there not been the very real prospect of being jumped by O’Driscolls.”

  
“And here I thought you liked me.” He said sarcastically.

  
“Why don’t you just go and avoid Dutch somewhere else and leave me in peace?” I huffed.

  
“I was going to suggest we go pay Emmett Granger a visit, but if you would prefer to walk all the way…”

  
“Do you have the camera?”

  
The words came out reflexively. I was like a dog that had been offered a very attractive stick: unable to deny the need to chase and retrieve. Arthur patted his saddle bag. “Do you remember where he lives?”

  
I eyed the saddle bag, failing to no seem too eager. “Do you know how to get to Flat Neck Station?”

  
“I believe I do.”

  
He held out his hand to help me up onto his horse. I let him help me up, trying to not seem so happy about finally having something real to do. After days of mundane violence and labor, this was like a rainbow after the rain. As I settled myself onto the horse behind him, he looked back over his shoulder. “You really enjoy this don’t you?”

  
“Is it that obvious?”

  
He laughed and we started making our way out of Valentine. “You got the same look Jack does when he gets a new storybook.”

  
“I will admit sitting in camp and doing chores has gotten a little boring.”

  
“I’m sure it does, for someone as worldly as you.”

  
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not wrong. I’m not an idle person. I’ve never been one to stay anywhere for very long.”

  
“Then you’ll fit right in. We can’t seem to find anywhere to stay for very long either.”

  
“It’s different when you get to choose where you go.”

  
Another glance over his shoulder. “You get told where to go?”

  
“It wasn’t as if I was travelling for fun.” I sighed, “It’s my job, not my hobby.” I paused, then corrected myself. “It was my job, anyway.”

  
“One thing I will never understand is how people can just let someone tell them how to live their lives. How can you let someone make your decisions for you?”

  
I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted by the horse abruptly stopping. She cried out and tossed her head, taking a couple steps backwards. I could hear the distinct rattle of an angry snake. She reared and slammed her hooves to the ground, as if challenging the small reptile and I had to grab onto Arthur so I wouldn’t slide right off and end up in the dirt. The horse snorted triumphantly, and the rattle stopped. We continued on our way, Arthur acting as if nothing happened. He patted one of the arms that was wrapped tightly around his waist. “You’re alright.” He said, his voice surprisingly soothing, “You ain’t afraid of snakes, are you?”

  
“Snakes? No. Falling off of horses and answering deeply personal questions? Maybe a little.”

  
“Since when are you afraid of talking?”

  
“There are some things I don’t discuss with strangers, Mr. Morgan. Even if that stranger is familiar.”

  
“What does that even mean?”

  
I cleared my throat and sat back, disentangling my arms from around his waist. “It means we’ve arrived.” I said stiffly, readjusting my hat.

  
It meant I had no intentions of spilling my guts to someone who had stolen my horse and hadn’t made up for it yet. Arthur looked over at the dismal little pig farm that sat nestled among the shaded trees. The train tracks lined the crest of the hill above us and on the other side was lovely view of Flat Iron Lake. The stench of pig shit hung in the air. We came to a halt and stayed there for a silent moment. “Let me do the talking.” He said finally and dismounted.

  
I dismounted and gave him a dirty look. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna go?”

  
He rummaged in his saddlebag, produced the camera and shoved it into my hands. “Yes, it is. No need for you to be getting us into trouble.”

  
“I’m good at things besides getting into trouble, you know.”

  
“Sure.”

  
We walked up the path towards the farm. I hovered at Arthur’s elbow, trying not to look as excited as I felt. There was an overwhelming sense that this wasn’t going to go well, but action and trouble was better than boring any day. As long as neither Arthur or I got shot, I’d be happy. A pig squealed loudly from the pen off to our right and I started, bumping into Arthur. I always forgot how huge pigs were. Arthur gave me a sideways glance, barely concealing his amusement. A thin, greasy old man leaned up against the pig pen, glaring at us. “Hey, you.” Arthur called over as we got closer.

  
“What do you want?” the old man demanded, his eyes narrowing, suspicious.

  
“You Granger?”

  
“That’s my name,” the old man straightened, putting his hands on his hips, “And my occupation too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  
I eyed the pigs wearily. Granger looked like someone who would feed people to his pigs. My grip on the camera tightened. “Weren’t always like that though, were it?” Arthur pulled on of the photos the writer had given us, showing it to Granger, “Used to be a quick draw guy, you knew Jim “Boy” Calloway?”

  
The old man eyed the phot, his expression turning mournful. “Used to be’s correct… them days are long over. And who might you be?”

  
He was looking past Arthur, sizing me up. The look in his eye was predator and the longer he stared at me, the more uncomfortable I felt. “It don’t matter. I need you to tell us about Jim Boy… just quote for a book.”

  
Granger’s attention snapped back to Arthur at the word ‘book’. “A book about Jim Boy?” he scoffed, “Well, shit, I can’t talk to you now. Look at me, I’m knee deep in hog crap.”

  
“Don’t mind us,” Arthur said, following Granger as he paced towards the other end of the pig pen, “We can talk while you work.”

  
Granger laughed and gave Arthur a look. The cogs in the old man’s brain were turning. He was going to play us, but there was no good way to know if Arthur was realizing this too. “I ain’t talking and shoveling.” He said disdainfully, “Besides, young thing like you would get it done in half the time.”

  
“And so it begins.” I muttered under my breath.

  
Arthur shot me a look, seemingly regretting his choice of taking lead. “I don’t know about that…”

  
“What’s to know? You afraid to do hard work in front of your lady? You interested in the old days?” The predatory look in his eyes was becoming brighter, more hungry, “You shovel this shit, I tell you some stories. You keep your hands clean; I don’t give you squat.”

  
I could almost hear Arthur grinding his teeth. This was quickly becoming more effort than it was worth. “God dammit.” He hissed, “These better be some stories.”

  
He turned and walked over to me, shrugging off his coat and handing it to me along with his satchel. “He’s not gonna talk.” I whispered.

  
Before Arthur could respond, Granger called over, his tone mocking. “Don’t you worry, I’ll keep that honey of yours company while you work.”  
My lip curled in disgust. “Be nice, you can’t shoot him just yet,” Arthur whispered, “Honey.”

  
With a wink, he turned and went over to hop the fence into the pig pen. “Pick up the fork and get to work or get out of here and stop wasting my time.” Granger commanded.

  
Arthur picked up the pitchfork and turned to give Granger a hard look as the old man sauntered over towards me. “Alright,” he called over reluctantly, “I’ll shovel your shit.”

  
Granger stood next to me, one hand resting on his hip, the other on the back of my neck. Horror and disgust flooded my body and I did all I could not to shiver or step away. I had my arms full of Arthur’s things and I had to resist the urge to them in favor of breaking the old man’s wrist. “Jim Boy weren’t nothin’, you know. Me…” Granger ruminated, “I killed men, women and children too, animals. I even killed rocks.” He squeezed with the hand on my neck suggestively as he said ‘women’, setting off every danger alarm in my head, “And I killed ‘em good.”

  
There was a wistfulness to his tone that made it all so much worse. Remembering his gruesome deeds was making him nostalgic, making it clear that he was just as disgusting a human being as he looked. “I shot folks, stabbed folks, skinned folks. I scalped some…” he let out a little laugh, “Boy, they scream when you scalp ‘em.”

  
I bit my lip hard, refusing to make a single sound as his grip tightened on my neck and give him the satisfaction of thinking he was intimidating me. Arthur seemed like he would rather be anywhere else and kept shooting me uneasy glances. “Hey,” Arthur demanded, “Let me work.”

  
Granger’s nose brushed against my ear and I fought the reflex to headbutt him. “You need you a man who knows how to work hard. Your man can’t shovel shit for shit.” He whispered.

  
The old man giggled softly at his own joke. “What makes you think he’s my man.” I asked through gritted teeth.

  
“Why else would he bring you along ‘cept to show you off?” his fingers were sneaking around towards my throat, “I can do you better than pretty boy.”

  
My knuckles were turning white as I gripped Arthur’s jacket. I couldn’t kill him, not yet. Arthur had stopped, giving Granger a hard look. “Mind yourself friend.”

  
One of the pigs ran into Arthur’s legs, nearly knocking him over. Granger cackled. “I dunno what’s got into these hogs, but I do know what’s comin’ out of ‘em. Keep shovelin’ boy!”

  
His hand slid from my neck to grasp the tail of my braid, pressing it against his face and inhaling deeply. He gave me a stomach-churning smile and continued. “I bashed folks, butchered folks. I burned folks, alive. I buried folks, alive. One time, I …”

  
Arthur made his way noisily to the edge of the pen, interrupting Granger. “We get it,” He said, “You’re mean. But what about Calloway.”

  
Granger released me and stepped forward, inspecting the pen. “Now it’s clean enough to eat off of.”

  
What a weird thing to say about a pigsty. Arthur rolled his eyes, finding the joke just about as unfunny as I did. “I guess I’m done, then.”

  
“You get that barrow to the shit pile,” Granger directed, “And I suppose you is.”

  
Sighing heavily, Arthur did as he was told. “No shortage of shit round here,” Granger called after him, “Comes from hungry hogs and no hands.”

  
Arthur grumbled something about the smell as he dumped the contents of the barrow into the pile. The old man laughed at him and stalked over to a crate by the porch of the house. He sat on it and began searching his pockets before producing a cigarette. “Alright,” Arthur was walking back towards us, “I cleaned your mess. Go on, tell us about Calloway.”

  
I moved slowly towards Arthur and away from Granger, knowing that what came next probably wasn’t going to be pleasant. I could tell we all knew it was about to go south; could feel the tension building in the air, but Arthur seemed to be holding out hope that Granger would just give in and talk. “I said I’d tell you stories. I didn’t say they’d be about him.”

  
Arthur began to advance, his patience tested. “Don’t trifle with me, old man. You knew him, just give me something, anything.”

  
In that moment, as the outlaw loomed over the old gunslinger, I suddenly remembered the camera that I was supposed to be using. Tossing Arthur’s jacket over my shoulder, I framed up the shot. Both were too focused on staring each other down to notice me taking the picture. “If you’re making a book, you should make it about me.”

  
“Their just words is all.” Arthur said, exasperated, “Just give me something to say and I’ll leave you alone. You owe me that.”

  
“Hey,” Granger jumped to his feet, brandishing a finger, a wild look in his eyes, “You be careful. A killer like me… it don’t take much to end up on the end of my knife. One time…”

  
“Hey, you know what?” Arthur cut him off, “I don’t think you were anything at all; just a crazy old man.”

 

Apparently, I was not the only smart mouth around. “I ain’t a killer?” Granger demanded, “Why you’d already be hog-tied, and your sweetheart laid out on my table like Sunday dinner if I hadn’t made a deal with the federals, got this farm…”

  
“This is your last chance, Mr. Granger, give me a quote for the book!”

  
Arthur stepped forward menacingly and Granger jumped back. “Hey, hey, hey, you don’t w-want to hit an old man of peace… no government witness.”  
I raised an eyebrow. Old man of peace? “Oh, so you’re a coward as well as delusional?” I said loud enough for both of them to hear, unable to remain silent any longer.

  
Granger turned to me, but before he could spit out whatever vile thing he was cooking in his mind, Arthur laughed and shook his head. “Calloway said you were full of piss, but he didn’t tell me the half of it.”

  
Granger’s eyes were bulging now, spluttering in the wake of the insult. Arthur turned and walked back towards me. All I could do was fight a smile, impressed by the bluff, knowing full well that he had never once actually spoken with Calloway. Arthur gave me a small, cocky smile as he came close and pulled his jacket off my shoulder. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to show off. “I’m itching to drop you, girly.” Granger threatened, his voice cracking, “Only, you ain’t worth my time. I … I got too much to lose.”

  
Arthur shrugged on his jacket as he turned to face Granger, unimpressed by the old man. “Too much to lose? Well, seein’ as I cleaned up this pigsty, I figure I’m in my right’s to wreck it.” He looked around, “Let’s see…”

  
As soon as he said ‘wreck’ I was reaching into his satchel. I gleefully produced a stick of dynamite. “Why, thank you.” Arthur took it, grinning.

  
He put a hand on my back, and we began walking towards the shit pile. I liked where this was going. I wasn’t happy about being told to be silent, but this might make up for it. “You don’t want to do that!” Panic was rising in Granger’s voice, “You walk away right now.”

  
“Well, Well, all I wanted was a quote.” Arthur called back.

  
There was a tree right next to the pile and I went to stand behind it, leaning against it, putting the trunk directly between me and the shit. “You don’t know who you’re trifling with!”

  
I heard the distinctive ‘sshk’ of a match being struck. I could here the old man shrieking as Arthur appeared, walking fast, and stood in front of me, pressing close to avoid the fallout. “NO, NO, NO!”

  
I knew it was coming, but the explosion still made me jump. There was a disgusting squelching noises as the shit rained down around us. When all was clear, we stepped out from behind the tree, observing the scene. Granger was doing an angry little dance, trying to shake off the shit that now covered him. I watched in awe and delight as my fellow dumbass, Arthur Morgan, stepped forward and antagonized the armed, infuriated and now shit-covered murderer. “You just took yourself a regular shit shower, Mr. Granger.” His hand rested on his pistol, his stance tensing, knowing what was coming next, “Boy, that looks real nasty.”

  
“You earned yourself a killin’!” Granger howled, “And I’m going to enjoy it now. Draw! It’s gonna be the last thing you do.”

  
He had barely pulled the knife from his belt before the shot rang out, echoing about the little farm. The pigs squealed and screamed, spooked by the sound. Granger crumpled to the ground, the knife falling from his hand. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and followed Arthur as he approached the dead body. I lifted the camera and took a picture. “What are you doing?”

  
I looked over at Arthur. “Proof he wasn’t as good as he said he was. I can’t believe he was gonna throw a knife at you.”

  
Arthur pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to relieve Granger of his pistol. “Can’t blame the man for having confidence until the end, no matter how disgusting the man.” He stood, looking at me as he wiped off the pistol, “You alright?”

  
“I feel like I need about fifteen baths, but it could have gone worse.” I looked back down at Granger, “Of course, it could’ve gone better. Maybe you should let me do some talking next time and you won’t have to shovel shit.” A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the sensation of the old man’s hand on the back of my neck, “Can we feed him to the pigs?”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
There was more surprise than anything in Arthur’s voice. “Can we feed him to the pigs?” I repeated.

  
He looked down at Granger, then back at me. “I ain’t touchin’ him.” His nose wrinkled at the thought, “I ain’t saying he don’t deserve it, but there is the fact he’s covered in shit.”

  
I weighed my options, remembering that there were more unconventional means for getting the result I was hoping for. Arthur could probably handle a little weirdness. I turned and started walking towards the pen. “Then we bring the pigs to him, I suppose.”

  
Arthur followed behind me and helped me drag the gate open. I looked over at Granger again and took a deep breath. I spoke clearly and slowly, willing me words to be heard and answered. “Let mother nature run her course.”

  
It was a harsh prayer; a bitter spell, but everything that Granger deserved. And it was answered eagerly. A harsh breeze cut through the farm, carrying on it whispers. I suddenly realized that I may have underestimated the cosmic wrath that awaited Granger as a dozen crows landed along the fence, all cawing loudly and flapping their wings, staring at us with beady onyx eyes. I could feel something pressing in around me, hungry, the whispers growing more demanding. Something was very pleased that Granger was dead, and I began to wonder if at least some of the things he had bragged about were true.

  
As if commanded, the pigs all began to file out of the pen, sniffing the ground on their way towards Granger’s corpse. Arthur grabbed me arm and began leading me roughly towards his horse. I didn’t fight him. I had no intention of staying. While the presence that filled the air of the little farm seemed happy about Granger’s death, that didn’t mean it would still be grateful when it was finished.

  
“We should be going,” Arthur said as we reached the horse, helping me up onto the mare’s back, “Someone’s bound to have heard the gunshot. No need to be around when they come investigate.”

  
I was sure that Arthur had been aware of the eerie events that had begun to unfold as we left the farm, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. I wasn’t about to bring it up, either. We rode back to camp in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay with me, I know it's a little weird, we'll get to the explaining, I promise.  
> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions of how I can do better, let me know!


	5. Where the Skies are Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler, filler, filler.

Upon our arrival at camp, we were immediately greeted by Hosea and Dutch. I slid off the back of the horse and gave them both a smile. “Good morning Mr. Van der Linde. Mr. Matthews.”

They looked like two parents whose children had been out past curfew. Hosea had his arms crossed over his chest and Dutch has his hands on his hips; both powerful, disappointed stances. “We were just wondering if you had run into some trouble.”

“No trouble, just taking care of some things.” Arthur grunted as he dismounted.

The two men exchanged a look. “I need to speak with you, Arthur.” Dutch said.

Arthur sighed as Dutch put his arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the older man’s tent, leaving me with Hosea. “I hope they didn’t give you too much…”

“No trouble.” I said quickly, echoing Arthur, “No need for thanks for something I’m supposed to be doing.”

I made my way along the edge of the camp, weaving among the bushes and horses until I heard a loud whinny. Ontario came up, happy as could be, shoving his nose against my hand. Hosea leaned up against the hitching post nearby. “That may be,” he said, “But taking care of drunk idiots is a bit above and beyond what is we would ask.”

I stroked Ontario’s forehead. “They weren’t any more trouble than what I’ve been for you.”

When I didn’t elaborate, Hosea dropped the subject. “Aren’t you wondering about your things.”

Ontario stepped forward, resting his head over my shoulder so I would rub his neck. “I imagine they are in a pile somewhere, waiting for me to sort through them.” I looked over at him pointedly, “That is, if they haven’t been picked over yet.”

“Do you really trust us so little?”

I gave him a small smile. “It has nothing to do with trust, I’m just being realistic. Things of value sitting out all afternoon and night, unattended, in a camp full of people strapped for cash? It’s not difficult math.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he fought a smile. “Follow me.”

Giving Ontario one final pat, I pulled away and followed after Hosea obediently. Behind the ammo wagon and Arthur’s tent, a new tent had been erected. He motioned for me to take a closer look and I did so cautiously. Inside there was a cot with my trunk at the end and a table next to it. A map was splayed across the table’s top, with books stacked along the back edge. Another trunk was nestled underneath the table. A chair and a coat rack completed the furniture set. I turned to look back at Hosea, confused. “Who did all this?”

“The girls… mostly. I would say that Javier and I helped a little with tent, but they did most of the, uh, organizing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Find anything interesting.”

The old man smiled. “Oh, a few things here and there,” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, and held it up for me to see, “This in particular.”

I took a couple steps forward, intrigued. “And what might that be?”

His eyes narrowed and he poked me in the chest with it. “How should I know? It’s written in Latin! I can’t read it, and Strauss won’t give me a straight answer about whether he can or not.”

“Then how do you know it's interesting?”

“It’s signed with your father’s name.”

I frowned; every bright feeling of curiosity drowned out by bitterness. “You can keep it.” I said harshly.

Hosea seemed a little taken aback. “And do what with it?”

I shrugged, turning around to inspect the tent further. “I don’t know. Read it, save it… you could burn it for all I care.”

“You don’t want to know what it says?”

It was obvious by the tone in his voice that he was more interested in my answer than anything contained in the letter. “There isn’t anything personal in it, Mr. Matthews. I have no doubt that all it will be is some formal rebuke. Perhaps some half-hearted words of encouragement, urging me to beg for forgiveness and do all that is asked of me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard and nothing I want to hear again.”

“You seem so sure.”

I gave Hosea an annoyed look. “Ingvar North is a predictable man, Mr. Matthews.” I said stiffly, “He is someone who always plays the same tune.”

He wandered past me, examining the books on the table. “The girls had some interesting things to say about the man you met with in town.”

“I’m sure they did.”

He picked one of the books and sat down in the chair, leafing through it. “Who was he?”

“No one you need to worry about.”

Hosea looked at me a moment. I could see him trying to piece together what I was getting at; trying to interpret my ever-worsening mood. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He closed the book in his hands, “What makes you think he isn’t someone willing to come looking for you? Willing to…”

“No one’s coming looking, Mr. Matthews, I assure you. I am… are you familiar with the term ‘persona non grata’?”

“Yes.”

“See, you do know some Latin after all.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“That’s it. That’s all I have to say. I am an unwelcome person. I am not to be spoken to by my former associates. The meeting was a formality only; the final nail in the coffin that is my exile.” I paused, suddenly realizing why he was so concerned, “You all didn’t think I’d run off, had you?”

Before Hosea could respond, a gasp came from the tent entrance. I turned to find Marybeth standing there, grinning. “There you are!” she said, sounding relieved, “We’d thought you’d run off!”

That answered my question. She disappeared out of view, but I could hear her calling out to Tilly and Karen. Hosea stood and put the book back down on the table. I watched him, wondering if it were possible that they had all actually been concerned for me. “We can continue this conversation later.” He said, moving past me and leaving the tent, “I wouldn’t want to deny the girls their fun.”

As he left, Marybeth appeared with Karen, Tilly and Abigail in tow. “Well,” Tilly asked as they all moved to take a seat, “Do you like it.”

Marybeth and Abigail sat on the edge of the bed as Tilly took the chair and Karen perched on the trunk at the end of the bed. I looked at them all, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

I was met by four sets of rolling eyes. “We knew you couldn’t sew,” Karen said with a laugh, “So we weren’t sure if you would know how to pitch a tent either.”

“That’s,” I laughed at my own expense, “That’s fair, I suppose.”

“But do you like it?” Tilly repeated.

“It’s great.” I said firmly, “I'm curious to know if you found anything good amongst all the junk.”

Abigail just shook her head as the other three’s faces lit up. Tilly stood. “Well now that you mention it…” She went and pulled the trunk out from underneath the table, “I do have a question for you…”

She opened the trunk and began to rummage through it. A few seconds later, she produced a dress. It was elegant and fashionable, navy blue and deep burgundy, and entirely at odds with my personal style. I reached out to touch it, in awe that I would have been given something so lovely. “Is this your ‘I kill men who’ve been rude’ dress, or ‘I’m going to rob a very big bank’ dress?”

“Oh no,” Marybeth jumped to her feet, “You should see my favorite!”

After some more rummaging, Marybeth produced another dress. I had to hold back a grimace. Who had packed my things and thought I would need multiple dresses? This one was cream and made of linen, with wooden buttons on the bodice. “This is a safari dress.” She said firmly, “Have you been on a safari before?”

“No, I haven’t but I have been to many jungles.” I reached and rubbed the light, soft fabric between my fingers, “Are… are there more dresses in there.”

“No,” Tilly said, sounding almost disappointed, “Do you really wear pants that much?”

“Less of a tripping hazard.”

Marybeth giggled. Tilly's eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “Hey,” Karen said, and I turned to look at her.

She patted the trunk on which she sat. “What’s in this one? A trunk this big must have something good in it.”

“You mean you couldn’t get it open?”

“It’s not like it’s a lock we can pick.” Marybeth said.

I ignored that statement, and smiled at Karen. “Well,” I stepped forward and she stood, moving out of the way, “Let’s see, shall we.”

I knelt in front of it and swiped my thumb across the puzzle lock, moving as if I were putting in a combination. There was a click and I lifted the lid slowly, not sure what to expect. The first thing inside was my hunter’s coat. I touched it fondly, thinking of all the cold nights it had gotten me through. I was mildly surprised to find something that actually belonged to me. I pulled it out and Karen took it from me, placing it on the bed. Underneath, I found more clothes. Black riding pants, some white dress shirts and a couple vests. I held up one in particular to show to the girls. It was black with silver embroidery vining across the front. I was relieved of its possession by Marybeth, who took it and sat down on the cot, running her hands over the embroidery, admiring it.

Underneath the clothes was the good stuff. An engraved pistol sat nestled in a wool coat and next to it, resting on a box of throwing knives was my dagger. I could see something glinting beneath it all and I eagerly rummaged until I produced my most prized possession. I stood, holding the sword in my hands, the weight of it ever so familiar. “What is that?” Abigail asked, craning to look past Marybeth.

I slowly freed the sword from its sheath, savoring the way the blade glinted in the sunlight. They all stared at it, mesmerized, Karen even reaching out to touch it. The moment was broken by a harsh, “What the hell?”

Sitting at the table in middle of camp, Javier, John and Bill had been sharpening their knives. Now, they were staring, slack jawed. I hefted the blade and gave a smug grin. “Sorry boys,” I called over to them, unable to stop myself from being ridiculous, “But I think mine’s bigger.”

Karen howled with laughter. Javier laughed too. Bill was not as pleased. He shoved his knife into his belt before stalking off. John said nothing, but I could see his red cheeks from all the way over where I was standing. I turned back to the girls, returning the sword to its sheath and placed it gently on the end of the cot. “Why… Why do you have a sword?” Abigail asked, finally speaking.

Her tone was polite, but her expression very clearly stated that I was not to let Jack know of its existence. “I have found that some situations are best resolved with large, sharp metal objects.”

"You know," Karen said, kneeling down to look through the trunk, "You are so right."

“The way you talk,” Tilly said, shaking her head as she folded the dresses she and Marybeth had pulled out, “I forget that you’re a society lady.”

“I…” I let out an exasperated laugh, “You all keep saying that. What do you think rich people sound like?”

“You have met Ms. O’Shea?”

I moved and sat down next the Abigail at the head of the cot. “Maybe you’re right; maybe I don’t remember what rich people sound like.”

They all gave me a strange look. “What?” I said with a shrug, “It’s not as if I spend most of time around them. I’m a busy person. I have better things to do than entertain uppity people.”

“Uppity people.” Tilly echoed, “Now if that ain’t one way of putting it.”

A crowd had begun to form at the tent entrance. Karen was still sorting through my trunk but was now flanked on either side by Javier and Sean. John and Charles stood a little ways back, not looking to get involved, but too curious to not be there. “These are fun.” Sean said, inspecting the box of throwing knives.  
Javier was looking over my dagger, holding it up to the light; pressing his finger against its tip. “This needs sharpened.” He announced, putting it on the pile that was forming next to the trunk.

I had to tell myself that this was normal. There was no such thing as private anymore; the camp was communal, and it was near impossible to hide anything. “Oi,” Sean bumped his shoulder into Karen’s, “You saw her clothes, right? What to fancy lady knickers look like?”

Abigail promptly stood and left. I couldn't blame her: there was no doubt that this was about to go south. If Sean was looking for a fight, talking about my underwear in front of me was a good way to start one. Karen snorted, glancing up at me, then at Sean. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I bet they’re lacy and frilly.” Sean continued, running his hands over the engraved barrel of my pistol, “That’s what rich girls like, innit?"

Karen’s eyes widened as she discovered something in the trunk. “Some prefer silk, I think.”

“Now that’s what you want to see!” Sean exclaimed, pulling whatever Karen had found out of the trunk with a flourish.

It was a night gown; silken and cream-colored and elegant, with a thigh high slit on the side and soft delicate embroidery along the neckline. It was beautiful. It was something I would never have packed in a million years. I jumped to my feet as Sean began to press the fabric against his face, sighing a little at the sensation. Tilly caught my arm as I moved to push past her. “Maybe, don’t do that.” Charles said as Sean pressed the gown to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“We’re all thinking the same thing.” Sean scoffed.

“And what might that be?” Javier asked, standing and crossing his arms over his chest.

Sean ran his hands over the fabric. “We’re all thinking how lovely this would look as it fell to the ground, pooling around her ankles.”

Karen’s hand flew to her mouth. I stood there, dumbstruck, my limbs not responding as my brain demanded 'hit him'. The Irishman was more brazen than I had thought. “The trouble is,” he continued, pacing dramatically in front to the tent, “She’s been spending too much time with old Morgan. She’s going to get the wrong idea about us Van der Linde boys. She’s gonna think we’re not interested.”

John snorted. “I think she’s aware of your interest, Mr. Maguire.”

“We are all aware of your interest, Mr. Maguire.” I said, finally finding my voice.

Sean spun around, a broad, goofy grin on his face. The anger melted a little as he smiled at me. “Five minutes," He implored me, "Give me five minutes and I will show you what a real man can do.”

I slipped from Tilly’s grip and stepped out of the tent, giving Sean an unconvinced look. “Are you speaking to me, or the nightgown? I’m not sure it would fit you, but you can try it on if you really want.”

He laughed and I pulled the gown off of his shoulder where he had draped it. “You just keep what I said in mind.”

“If I ever feel like being disappointed for five minutes, I’ll let you know.”

He gave me a wink and turned, walking away. “You’ll come lookin’ for it, I guarantee.” He called over his shoulder.

Everyone was laughing now and I couldn’t help but laugh a little myself. “Don’t worry,” Karen said as I turned back to face the tent, “It never stops.”

My responding groan made them laugh a little harder. I stepped forward to look to see what was left in the trunk. “What is going on over here?”

The laughter died immediately. Marybeth and Tilly tried to seem busy inside the tent while everyone else dispersed before they could be asked what they were doing. I slowly straightened and turned to face Dutch, giving him an innocent smile. “I was just unpacking my things, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“It takes half the camp to help you?”

His tone was sharp, but his eyes gave away the ruse. He was here to ask me something, not to yell at everyone for idleness. “I have a some… novel possessions that they were curious about, that’s all.”

He reached out and touched the gown that I still had slung over my shoulder, rubbing the fabric between his finger. “Is that so?” His eyes darkened, “I imagine a lady like you has many fine things.”

“Was there something you needed, sir?”

Dutch seemed satisfied with the terse formality in my tone, a small smile twitching up the corners of his moustache. He slowly approached my tent, hands clasped behind his back. I turned and watched him eye up the sword on the end of the cot. “Do you still have business to take care of in Strawberry?” he asked, picking up the weapon and drawing it from its sheath.

I was entirely unsurprised by the way he went immediately for the sword. Dutch liked grand, fine things, and it was certainly a grand, fine weapon. “I do, if I would be allowed to go.”

He admired the way the blade reflected the light, squinting at the inscription on it. “I’m sure you know about Mr. Bell and how he has been… detained there.”

“I do.”

I watch nervously as Dutch stepped towards me, taking a few experimental slashes through the air. “I want you to go free Micah. You may take care of your business as well, but Micah is to be your priority.”

He began to swing the sword in larger arcs, seeming to enjoy himself, becoming a little to confident with the weapon. I watched, eyes intently following the blade’s course, knowing that this wasn’t going to end well. “Am I to do this on my own or am I allowed to have someone come with me? Mr. Bell isn’t very likely to trust someone he doesn’t know.”

“Arthur will go with you.”

“Sir, I…”

Dutch stepped and turned to face me, swinging the sword as he went. I saw what was coming before he did, knowing that he was too close and had too much of his strength into the swing. I caught the blade between my palms before it could hit my side. My hand stung as the sharp steel bit into it. We stood there for a moment, very still. Dutch’s eyes were wide with shock. A thin line of blood trickled down the steel towards the guard from my hand. I gave him a hard look. “It’s not a toy.” I said sharply.

All exasperation at the thought of being babysat by Arthur had evaporated, replaced by annoyance, accented sharply by the pain in my palm. It’s a weapon and he swung it like a child with a stick. I let go of the sword and he flipped the blade down, holding out the hilt for me to grab. I took it with my good hand while holding my cut palm aloft to help stop the bleeding. The cut was shallow, but it would take a long time to heal, and knowing that only worsened my mood. “Why do you even have a sword anyway?” he asked, his voice uneasy.

Dutch was… well, not afraid, but definitely worried about the consequences of his action. Accepting that as the closest thing I would get to an apology, I wiped the blade on my thigh and changed the subject. “When should I be ready to leave?”

“First thing in the morning.”

Marybeth was at my side, already wrapping some cloth around my hand. “I won’t disappoint.” I told him firmly, holding his gaze.

“I expect you won’t.”

Dutch eyed the blade one last time before heading back to his tent. “Are you alright?” Marybeth asked softly.

I turned and met her concerned gaze, feeling myself melt a little under her touch. “I’m fine, just a scratch.”

She smiled and led me back to the tent, sitting me down on the cot so she could properly wrap my hand. “Going all the way to Strawberry with Arthur,” Tilly mused, sitting down next to me, “Aren’t you going to spend any time with anyone else?”

“It’s not as if I’m doing this on purpose.”

“It took you two a while to get back to camp this morning.” Marybeth said.

“Please, don’t start.” My eyes narrowed, “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

“We talked to Lenny this morning,” Tilly said, holding my gaze, “He had some interesting things to say about what happened while you were in town last night.”

“And what did he tell you?” I asked, already knowing the answer, “That he was drunk off his ass and got arrested?”

“He said he saw you kiss Arthur.” Marybeth whispered.

I didn’t know why she was whispering, but the way she looked at me with those big eyes, while Tilly sat there seemingly unphased made me realized I was being worked. They were trolling for information and damned if I hadn’t almost fallen for it. “What’s it matter? I’m sure you both have been kissed by a drunken fool before. Put a couple of shots in a man and he gets excited.”

“But why’d he kiss you?”

“I think you are asking the wrong person that question. If you want the answer you best be taking those big doe eyes to the next tent over and ask the big man himself.”

“You think I have doe eyes?” Marybeth giggled.

I felt my stomach squirm and my cheeks grow hot. “Y-Yes. They are enthralling and a very pretty blue, now take them somewhere else to dig for gossip.”

Tilly stood and Marybeth held my injured hand in both of hers. My skin felt hot under her touch. “I hope your hand feels alright.” She said gently.

They both turned and left. As soon as they were out of sight, I let out a deep breath and let my face fall into my hands for a moment. Those two were like an inquisition. After letting my pulse return to normal, I set about cleaning up and packing, dumping all of the contents of both chests onto the cot so I could take full stock of all that I had been allowed to keep from my previous life. Keep was a… loose term. Only half of the things I actually owned, the rest were just reminders that even this far removed from the Order, I still wasn’t making all of my decisions for myself.

I spent the rest of the day in that tent, as if my presence would make it feel less foreign in such a short amount of time, leaving only to dole out the inessentials that had been added to my supplies. Marybeth received a couple of Jane Austen novels with gleeful squeals. A suspicious Molly took some coaxing before she would take the bottle of rose scented perfume, but she smiled broadly when she finally smelled it and I received a kiss on the cheek. Lenny, who stopped by to check out the new tent, happily relieved me of a copy of the Iliad. “I don’t know why they gave me so many books.” I said, exasperated, watching him turn it over, examining the covers.

“Maybe they thought you would have a lot of free time.”

I breathed sharply through my nose, a little annoyed that he was probably right. “Well, if you know anyone who would want to read these, they are free to new owners.”

Lenny chuckled, turning to leave. “Our own little Van der Linde library.”

Before I knew it, the day had passed by and Pearson was clanging the stew pot, announcing dinner was ready. My stomach growled, but I still found myself weighing the options of whether to go out there or not. The decision was made for me when Tilly and Marybeth appeared at the entrance to the tent with sharp eyes and coy smiles. They were realizing they could fluster me. I felt a little afraid. “Have dinner with us?” Marybeth asked sweetly.

It felt more like an order than a suggestion, and I found myself walking over to get stew with them. We collected our bowls and I was steered over to the overlook, where we all sat down in the grass. I looked out across the vista, trying to avoid eye contact for as long as possible. “Did you know that Arthur draws in his journal.”

I turned to face Marybeth with a polite smile. “Is that what he does?”

She nodded earnestly. “He’s quite good, I think. He writes quite a bit in there too, about all the things that go on out there and around here.”

“You’ve read his journal?”

She turned a little red. “Only over his shoulder once or twice. He’s shown me a couple drawings before. He likes drawing the animals he sees when he’s out.”

I was failing to see where this conversation was going, unless they were trying to convince me that I should like Arthur. “That’s… a very interesting talent for a man like Mr. Morgan to have.”

Tilly gave me a sly smile. “You know, I think he likes you.”

“Well, that’s good. I generally try to get people to like me, especially if I’m going to be spending a lot of time around them.”

“You know what we mean.”

I sighed, putting my bowl down in the grass. “I don’t need a matchmaker, and I certainly don’t need two matchmakers. Life is complicated. So a man kisses you? Then the next morning you bail him out of jail and then watch him have a shootout with a gunslinger. It’s nice to have people like you, and it’s fun when they really like you, but I’m not really concerned with that. I’m more focused on their respect and their trust than whether or not they would…” I lowered my voice, “Fuck me.”

“You are crass, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dwelling on it. If you all stop mentioning it, I’ll probably forget about it in a week.”

Tilly produced a crumpled paper from her pocket. “But will you really?”

I eyed the paper. “Yes. What is that?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes Arthur gets frustrated and tears out pages from his journal.” Her eyes narrowed, “How’s your hand?”

“It’s fine. Why do you have a page from Arthur’s journal? Isn’t that kind of…”

“He just threw it on the ground. Anyone could have picked it up, thinking it was trash.” Marybeth said.

I stared at it and couldn’t help but laugh. “Ladies, ladies,” I shook my head and picked my bowl back up, “You are playing this game too soon.”

They exchanged a glance. “Whatever do you mean?” Marybeth asked, innocently.

“You have to wait a couple weeks; let me get settled in. And then you start profiting from emotional manipulation.” I stood, “You revealed your hands too soon.”

“So you don’t want a peak at what’s on the paper.”

Tilly still held it aloft, teasingly. I stared at it. “No.” I lied.

I watched her tuck it into the pocket of her coat. “I’ll ask you in a couple of weeks, then.”

“In a couple of weeks I'll have moved on. I could be walking around, arm in arm with Javier. Arthur who?”

“You like Javier?” Marybeth asked excitedly.

They were insatiable; relentless. There was a wicked gleam in their eyes that told me it was best I just bow out. I wasn’t going to win this. “I… I have to go pack.”

I had underestimated those girls. I had almost taken too long to realize that they were just as smooth as every other conman in this camp. They were ten steps ahead of me, asking questions I didn’t even know the answers to yet. I went back to my tent, though it wasn’t as if I felt safe there. Canvas did little to protect you from those coy smiles and knowing looks.

As the evening continued, the sun dipped low and bathed the camp in red gold light. I lit candles on the table to help fend off the nearing dark and turned back to my cot. Things were still piled there, reminding me that there were still things to be done. I picked up a thin, long wooden box and opened it. Inside was a jeweled necklace. I closed the lid quickly and put the box in the bottom of my trunk. I found a few more pieces of jewelry and they were all treated the same. What use did I have for jewelry out here?

I continued at my chore, setting aside things to disperse among my new campmates, as someone entered my tent. “Miss… Miss North?”

“Yes?” I asked, not looking up from the book I was turning over in my hands.

“I-I have your saddle.”

I glanced up to see Kieran standing there, his face contorted a little from strain, holding Ontario’s saddle, which I knew to be very heavy. “You can just drop it wherever.”

His eyes darted around the tent. “Are… Are you sure?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a saddle.”

He put it down gently next to the coat rack. “A very nice saddle.” He said, quickly stepping back, “Must’ve cost a pretty penny, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Again, I shrugged, setting some more books down on the table. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.” He held his hands behind his back, his gaze firmly affixed to the ground, “Well, uh, right, you probably…”

His sentence trailed off nervously, afraid to make assumptions out loud. “Is Ontario giving you any trouble?" I asked kindly, "I know he can be very pushy.”

Kieran seemed to relax a little, actually looking at me as I continued to go through my things. “Oh, no, he’s good. A bit greedy, but all the big horses are. He’s a fair bit gentler than Brown Jack. He's a fine horse, Miss North.”

I smiled as I folded a shirt in dropped it into the trunk. “I’ve never really been around horses this much, you know. I fear I’m treating him more like a dog than I should.”

“How do you mean?”

Another shrug, another shirt dropped into the trunk. “Always giving him treats, always babying him, letting him get away with things. I’d probably let him lay on my lap if he wouldn’t crush me.”

“I think you’re treatin’ him just fine, Miss. There’s nothing wrong with treatin’ horses well. They take care of us, we got to take care of them just the same.”

I smiled at him. “You are so very right, Mr. Duffy.”

Even in the dark, I could see his cheeks grow red. “I, uh, thank you, Miss. If you need any help… you just let me know.”

“I will, Mr. Duffy. Good night.”

“Good night, Miss North.”

He turned, giddy smile on his lips, and ran right into Hosea. “Don’t you have some place to be?” Barked the older man.

Kieran let out a surprised yelp and scurried off without answering. Hosea watched him go before stepping into the tent. I gave him a hard look. “You all do so enjoy tormenting him.”

Hosea stepped forward, examining the few things that were still left on the bed now. “He’s just so easy to torment. It’s too tempting. Maybe you should try it some time.”

“I’ll fight anyone who’s picking fights, but I’m not mean to people who don’t deserve it.”

“You will find that ‘defender of the weak’ is a hard position to keep here.”

His tone was surprisingly bitter, as if he wished his words weren’t true. I watched as he ran his hands over the cloak that lay crumpled on the cot, wondering if perhaps there was a time when helping those in need had been a goal of his. He looked up and I turned away, fussing with the arrangement of books on the table. “Better to have a bleeding heart than not to have one at all.” I said.

There was a loud thud and a crunch, and I spun to face him. He stood there, cloak in hand, staring at the ground. I looked down, seeing the broken picture frame that had most likely fallen when he had picked up the cloak. On top of the splintered frame sat a silver mask. Before I could react, Hosea had tossed the cloak onto the cot and picked both items up, a curious glint in his eye. He stepped forward, pushing past me to examine them in the candlelight. “Well, well, well.” He cooed, watching the flicker of the little flames reflected in the masks polished surface, “This… well, it’s a bit flashy for my tastes.”

He ran his thumb over its surface, feeling the pockmarks and wear that marred the smooth silverite. “It’s not for robbing banks and stagecoaches.” I said, trying my best to sound aloof.

“Hmmm.” He straightened and turned to face me, “I’m sure you’ve never stooped so low.”

He was here to dig up information, just like the girls. There was no doubt they would continue this habit until they felt they knew all there was to know. Of course, there was something to be said about how I was beginning to enjoy the attention. I took the mask from him, looking down at it fondly. “I am a burglar, Mr. Matthews, not an outlaw. Such things require a bit of…” I lifted the mask up to my face with a grin, “Flair.”

I expected him to laugh or make some harsh joke, or perhaps not find it funny at all and tell me off. Instead, he smiled wryly, a look of something like longing in his eyes. It was as if the mask was a glimpse of the life Hosea had wished for: something more glamorous with less death and dirt. “It looks a little beat up.” He said.

I lowered the mask and looked down at it again, running my fingers over it, mentally running through a montage of all the times I had been hit in the face while wearing it. “To be fair, I’m a little beat up.”

“You must have gotten that scar not too long ago.”

I frowned and looked up to find him inspecting the photo in the ruined frame. “Why do you say that?”

He turned the photo for me to see. “You barely look a day older, besides the scar.”

The portrait was a familiar one; a recreation of the one that hung in Ingvar’s office. A flare of annoyance rose in my chest, and I felt the urge to tear it in half. I swallowed the temptation, trying not to let my displeasure show. Doing my best to conceal my emotions from Hosea, I politely took a moment to look at it, admiring the bright-eyed Elaine looking back at me. She was young and earnest and idealistic. There she stood proudly beside Leo, hand resting gently on the back of Ingvar’s chair, ignorant of the hard road ahead of her. It was amazing the how much nine years had changed me as a person and how little it had changed my appearance. Not that I was about to tell him that the portrait was nine years old “It's older than you’d think.” I replied, ambiguously.

“How’d you get it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I shrugged, tossing the mask back onto the cot. “Got caught somewhere I shouldn’t have been.”

“We’ve all got scars like that. Good way of teaching you to not get caught.”

He sat down in the chair, still holding the portrait up to the light. “Well, it’s an easy lesson to learn when someone’s trying to take your eye.” My cheek tingled, recalling the bite of steel against it, “Not a mistake I’ve made twice.”

I had to mind myself around Hosea. His aura of friendliness made me too comfortable, made me say things I shouldn’t give away freely. I knew how good of a conman he was just by how he seemed to put me at ease and get me talking. There was no need to tell him everything all at once. “Too bad about this frame.”

“Too bad you didn’t ruin the photo.” I said, harshly.

He looked back at me, eyebrow raised, but I could see the delight in his eyes. The emotion in my voice had sparked his curiosity. “You don’t like it? Why have it?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t pack any of this.” I held out my arms indicating the entirety of the tent’s contents, “It was… I was allowed to have it.”

“It’s a nice photo. Reminds me of the one Arthur has of him, Dutch and I.” He gave me a strange, almost fatherly look, “You shouldn’t destroy photos; they’re the only…”

“It’s a copy.” I snapped, snatching the portrait from him, “The original hangs above his desk. I’m sure he looks at it everyday and sighs deeply with disappointment.”

“So this is your father. Is that your brother?”

“No. Leo… he’s my father’s… I don’t know, I guess apprentice? Progeny?” I turned and slowly walked out of the tent, trying to avoid Hosea’s gaze, “It’s complicated.”

“Leo…” Hosea mused, following behind me, “Short for Leopold? Leonard?”

“Antelleon.” I said tersely, making my way towards the campfire.

“You hate him too?”

I had to fight a laugh; the questions seem endless. “No. Just Ingvar.”

“You always call your father by his name.”

“Always.”

“So you’re gonna toss it into the fire?”

He was a smart man. I stepped between Lenny and John who were sitting in the grass near the fire. I looked back at Hosea, “I have no intention of keeping it.”

I dropped the photo into the fire and returned to where Hosea stood, just outside the circle of the fire’s light. I crossed my arms over my chest and met his gaze. “Any more probing questions?”

Hosea regarded me for a moment, no doubt mulling over whether he could wring some more information out of me or not. After a few silent moments, he smiled softly. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, which were still scrutinizing my every action. “Not tonight. Good evening, Miss North.”

“Good evening, Mr. Matthews.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions on how I could make it better, let me know!


	6. Un Mundo Raro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some strange things about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the canon divergence train!

I was up before the sun, getting dressed in the dark. I figured the sooner I was ready to go, the fewer people I would have to talk to before I left. Hosea, Marybeth and Tilly had worn me down the day before, and I had woken to find myself in a particularly untalkative mood. The prospect of riding out and hearing naught but silence seemed like a blessing. They all had their secrets and I had mine, and I preferred if they would just leave it at that. I picked up Ontario’s saddle and stepped out of the tent. Cool air kissed my cheeks and I was suddenly grateful for all the new, much sturdier, much warmer clothes I had received. While the days were mostly pleasant, the Heartlands became frigid in the absence of the sun, reminding us all that it was only just barely spring.

            In the east, the sky had begun to blush a delicate pink, promising dawn to a cloudless sky. Ontario whickered sleepily as I approached, flicking his ears and shuffling his feet at the sight of the saddle. I set it down and began my attempt at tacking him. The bridle was easy enough, and he was eager to let me know when the bit wasn’t fitting right. I looked down at the saddle as Ontario rubbed his nose against my arm and nibbled at the cuff of my sleeve. This wasn’t going to be as easy. I draped the saddle blanked over his back and smoothed it out, trying to picture in my mind what he looked like with the saddle on. I hefted the saddle and pressed it almost above my head just to get it up and on him. I silently wondered if all saddles were that heavy as I shifted it around, standing on my tip toes, until it seemed to be in the correct position.

            Ontario, ever a good and patient boy, stayed still, nibbling at the grass as if this were a common occurrence as I tried my best to fit the girths. I hadn’t realized there were two. Was that normal? I put my foot in the stirrup when I had finished to test my handiwork. The moment I applied the slightest pressure, the whole thing slid sideways. I cursed and tried again with the same effect. I heard laughter behind me. I turned and glared at the spectators. Hosea and Arthur stood a little ways away, watching me and sipping from steaming cups. “Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked, pushing the saddle back into place once again.

            “Oh, don’t mind us.” Hosea said, “Please, continue.”

            I reset the girth and the rear cinch again, thinking that maybe this time I was almost doing them too tightly. Ontario turned his head to look back at me but made no indication that he was uncomfortable. Confident this time I had done it right, I put my full weight on the stirrup. The saddle held just long enough for me to start to mount before it slid sideways. My foot slipped through the stirrup, accidentally kicking Ontario in the side. Startled, he side-stepped and whinnied. I fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.

            A little dazed, I stared up at the trees above me, wondering why I had never bothered to learn hot to tack a horse. I took a deep breath and, ignoring the two men laughing at me, I tried to sit up and reach my ankle. All this accomplished was making the saddle slide further down, agitating Ontario more. He threw back his head and stomped his feet and dragged me a few more feet. “Hold, Ontario! Hold!”

            He snorted but held still. The laughter grew louder as Arthur and Hosea appeared above me. “If there was ever any doubt in my mind,” Arthur said, grinning down at me, “That you were raised an upper-class woman, it is gone now.”

            “Yes. Ha ha.” I sulked, “Elaine can’t sew or tack a horse to save her life. It’s all very funny.”

            Hosea grabbed Ontario’s reins, steadying him as Arthur freed my foot from the stirrup. “Thank you.” I mumbled as Arthur pulled me to my feet.

            I kept my gaze down, not willing to look either of them in the eye. “You’re very welcome, Miss North,” Hosea said, almost patronizingly, “Why don’t you go get your things. I think it will be quicker if you let someone else take care of this for you.”

            Cheeks hot, I turned and made my way back towards my tent, my pride and my back both a little bruised. “You are a mean old man.” I heard Arthur say.

            “What? The woman has traveled the world, but she can’t tack her own horse. That’s funny.” Hosea replied.

            He was right. It was funny. Not that I would admit it out loud. I grabbed my pack and my rifle of the cot and regarded the tent one final time. It didn’t feel like it was ‘mine’, but I had a hope that a couple days without a bed would make it seem more welcoming when I returned. Back outside, I found Ontario fully saddled and no sign of Hosea or Arthur. The latter’s mare was still hitched nearby, waiting for her rider. At least that meant he hadn’t left without me. I could hear the faint sound of voices coming from Dutch’s tent. Unable to bridle my curiosity, I deposited my things onto Ontario and crept towards the tent, straining to hear what was being said. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hosea.”

            “So you don’t think any of it’s true?” Hosea responded.

            “I think I am not enough of a fool to be sure she isn’t playing us.” Dutch replied harshly.

            “And we weren’t playing her?” Arthur said,

            “I’ll believe she’s a thief when I see it.”

            “Or when I see it.”

            “Oh, no, I have something lined up for the Lady North, don’t you worry. I’m gonna see this through myself. You just make sure you don’t take too long in Strawberry.” Dutch paused, then, “And make sure you keep your wits about you if you start taking… privileges, Arthur.”

            I straightened, having no intention of listening to anymore of that and returned to Ontario. I busied myself with double checking the contents of my saddle bags. It wasn’t as if I had heard something I didn’t expect. If Dutch trusted me entirely, then he would’ve been an idiot. All this meant was that if I wanted to be comfortable here, I would have to earn it. I just hoped that didn’t include shooting a sheriff to free Micah. “Good morning, Miss North.”

            I turned to face them with a polite smile. Hosea lingered back as Dutch and Arthur moved towards me. “Good morning, Mr. Van der Linde.”

            The smile he returned was condescending as he came up beside me, obliging Ontario with a rub on the nose. “Are you nervous, Miss North.”

            I swallowed my smart remark. Over Dutch’s shoulder, I could see Arthur giving me a cautionary look. “Why? Should I be?”

            Dutch’s eyes narrowed, unamused. “You are prepared for the worst, then?”

            “And hoping of the best, sir.” I mimicked his posture, “This won’t be the first time I’ve broken into a jail, and I doubt it will be the last.” I mounted up and looked down at him, trying to be less competitive and a little more charming. “I am a professional, Mr. Van der Linde. I will not disappoint.”

            Dutch stepped back. “I will hold you to that, Miss North.”

            I turned Ontario and followed Arthur down the trail out of camp. “A professional.” Arthur echoed as we exited the throng of trees that sheltered the camp from the view of the road, “You just can’t stop pushing Dutch, can you.”

            “I have what Connall would always call a fatal case of ‘Fight Me Syndrome’.” I said, pulling up alongside him.

            There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he gave me a side-eyed glance. “Is that so?”

            “Never could back down from a challenge, no matter how much trouble it brings me. I…”

            My voice trailed off as I noticed something strange in the road up ahead. A very particular smell filled the air as we approached it. Pulling Ontario to a stop, I dismounted and approached, pulling my bandana up over my nose against the offensive smell. I kicked at the dirt, examining the large pool of  blood. “What in the world?”

            Arthur crouched down beside me, examining it closely. The morning dew had turned the dried blood into a viscous, sticky mud. I looked off to the right of the road, tracing the path of the blood with my eyes as it led up the ravine towards the train tracks. “Holy shit!”

            Startled, I jumped back, nearly tripping over Arthur. He grabbed my arm as he stood, steadying me. Following my gaze, he let out a tired sigh. “That’s… That’s disgusting.”

            A corpse hung, strung up by the arms under the rail bridge between two support posts, with it’s guts hanging where it’s bottom half should have been. Headless, it faced the road, limbs and flesh scattered up the ravine in a path leading to it. Unable to curtail my morbid curiosity, I began to pick my way around the stinking gore towards the corpse. Arthur followed, tracing my steps, pulling his bandana up against the smell just as I had. Vultures sat above on the tracks, looking down at us, bored and waiting for us to leave so they could pick at the remains. As we got closer, flies buzzed through the air aggressively. On the ravine wall, painted white letters demanded “Witness My Works”.  I glanced back at Arthur. “You think someone would’ve noticed this.”

            “Oh, I’m sure someone’s noticed,” Arthur said, stepping past me, “They probably just don’t care.”

            Bits of the pour soul had dripped from the torso onto the ground. A couple of crows picked at the pieces, completely unphased by our presence. “This just…” I pulled my knife from my boot, “It just seem a little… much, you know?”

            “No,” Arthur said as he climbed over some rocks onto a ledge, examining one of the support posts, “This is a little much.”

            As I reached up to cut down the torso, Arthur removed something from the support with a grunt. “You poor bastard.”

I jumped out of the way as a severed head rolled down from the ledge and landed near my feet. The crows shrieked and dispersed. “What the hell?”

Arthur motioned for me to head back down towards the horses. “I think we should be getting out of here before anyone gets to thinking that we put this all here.”

Not looking to argue, I picked my way back down the ravine. “What did you find?”

He came up beside me and held out a rolled-up piece of parchment. “Looks like a piece of a map,” he said, “Though, I’m not sure I’d want to go wherever it leads.”

I took it from him, trying not the think about the stench that clung to it and unfurled it, doing my best to look it over in the dim morning light. “Definitely only part of a map,” I agreed, “and not much use without the rest of it.”

I gave it back and knelt down, wiping my hands on the grass, the dew almost making me feel as if there was a little less death on them. Arthur was a smarter man than I and was wearing gloves. He snickered at me and shoved the map piece into his saddlebag but made no comment. Neither of us really wanted to dwell on the scene we had just witnessed.

We mounted up and continued on our way. When I felt we had put sufficient distance between us and the bloody mess, I spoke up. “So, where are we going?”

Arthur smiled. “I figured you wouldn’t mind a little detour.”

“If Mr. Bell is as unpleasant as you all make him out to be, I do not, but I would like to know where we are going.”

“We are going to pay Mr. Hernandez a visit.”

I felt the urge to squeal with excitement. “Really.”

He nodded silently. I let myself smile, knowing he already knew how excited I was.

We passed by Valentine, taking the road towards Cumberland Falls, and past the covered bridge where I had been jumped by the O’Driscolls. I eyed it as we rode by, wary. “Only the stupid ones scope the same place twice.”

“So you mean there’s a good chance there are some of them hanging around here?”

“You say that like you ain’t looking for a fight.”

“I don’t look for fights, Mr. Morgan, I’m just always ready for them.”

All I got in response was a knowing look. As we crossed the river and continued north, the grayness of the morning faded, and the sky became a pleasantly blue and cloudless. I found myself almost overwhelmed by the country that surrounded us. The beauty of the wilderness, so raw and untouched in a way I was not familiar with, left my stunned. After a while, the silence seemed to make Arthur uncomfortable and I got his shooting me side-eyed looks. “We can talk if you’d like.” I said, drifting Ontario a little closer to his horse.

“I’m used to riding alone.” He said, not looking at me, “But I’m not used to silence when I do ride with someone else.”

“How’d you meet Hosea and Dutch, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“If I don’t mind?”

I grit my teeth, knowing he was purposefully messing with me. “Sorry for being polite.” I gave him a hard look, “It’s a terrible habit, I know.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but gave in, recounting the tale of his young wild self being taken in by the two conmen. As he spoke, the environment around us changed; oaks and birches giving way to conifers and the grass became sparse. The air grew cold and snow lined the path as we moved further into the mountains. There were gaps in Arthur’s story, but they seemed personal, so I didn’t press for information. He spoke of the early days of the gang with a certain whimsy and fondness, describing a young and fiery Dutch, and Hosea at his lying best.

I realized, as he spoke, that Arthur had been the genesis of this… pack that Dutch had collected. No doubt after he had collected his first stray, Dutch had figured why not take in another? Twenty years later and here they were, thriving and loyal and still seeking a life beyond the confines of civilization. Arthur loved those two men, and while there was a certain joy to hearing someone speak of what they love, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. His adoptive fathers had done better by him than mine had by me. I shoved the thought away, a little embarrassed that it had even come to mind.

We pushed through the snow, slowing our pace as the incline became more difficult for the horses. As we came through a pass in the mountains, the valley opened up and revealed Lake Isabella. I found myself holding my breath, awestruck by the beauty of the scene. I paused at the lake’s edge for a moment, taking it in. “John said you all were up here for a little while. Can’t imagine waking up to this every day.”

“It was a bit cold for my liking.”

He stopped his mare next to Ontario and we both looked out across the lake, enjoying the soft, echoey silence that seemed to only exist in snowy places. A distant elk call reverberated around the valley, sounding almost mournful. “Why’d you get in trouble with your people?” Arthur said after a few minutes.

I kept my eyes fixed on the lake. “I broke their rules, simple as that.”

“What kind of rule did you break to make them just… up and dump you? You steal something? Kill somebody?”

“No,” I shook my head, “No, I did the opposite.” I glanced over at him, “I saved someone. I… interfered in something I shouldn’t have.”

“And you got punished for it?”

“The Order lets you go anywhere, be anyone… they provide for every need, but that power comes at a price: lots of rules. And one of them is ‘no interfering’. You do your job you get out. No involving yourself in the affairs of others.”

“And they ain’t gonna think you breaking Micah out of jail is more interfering?”

I shook my head. “That’s small stuff. Now, say, if Mr. Leviticus Cornwall were to try and seek recompense for you all robbing his train, and I did something to make a problem such as that go away, then that would be interfering. Going to Blackwater and finding the money that you all left there; that would be interfering.” I turned Ontario and started down the trail again, “For the record, I’d gladly do either.”

“Seems a strange thing for a man to abandon his daughter for.”

“Ingvar is a very… principled man. What the Order says is his law, he will hear no dissent.”

“You always call your daddy by his name?”

I gave Arthur a hard look as he rode up beside me. “He ain’t my daddy. We may share a name, I may be his heir, but he ain’t my daddy.”

“You’d really go get our money from Blackwater?” Arthur asked, changing the subject.

“Why not? If it would help you all out, then I’d do it in a heartbeat. I doubt Dutch would ever trust me enough, but if he asked, I would do it. And I’d be the person to ask, too, since I would have no use for taking any of it. You can guarantee you’d get it all back.”

“I’m starting to think that maybe you’re too nice.”

I laughed. “You know, Hosea said something similar to me yesterday, and you know what I told him?”

“What?”

I met Arthur’s gaze. “Having a bleeding heart is better than having no heart at all.” I said firmly.

“And what did he say to that?”

“He broke something.”

            Arthur laughed and we continued on.

            Colter was far worse than I had imagined it being. The abandoned mining town was run down and cold. Bleak and wind-whipped, it was hard to believe the gang had lived here only a couple weeks ago. “I couldn’t imagine surviving here.” I said, looking at the crumbling buildings.

            “Don’t have much of a choice when you’re running like we were,” Arthur said, “But there was a roof over our heads. It could’ve been worse.”

            “How pleasantly optimistic of you, Mr. Morgan.”

            He said nothing and we left Colter behind, following a trail up through a small pass that opened to a small little valley that cradled Cairn Lake. On the far side, a small camp was stood out, dark against the bright white snow. Voices carried across the frozen lake. I looked over at Arthur. “You should just let me do the talking.”

            “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?”

            “Because it went so well with Granger.”

            We came to a halt on the ridge overlooking the lake. As Arthur pulled out a pair of binoculars, I felt a little jealous and unprepared. Of all the things I had, binoculars was not one of them. “Seems like maybe six men camped out. Could be more in the cabin. We should go down to the shore, leave the horses and go in on foot.”

            I followed him, trying to plan out what to say. What would convince a ruthless band of Mexican outlaws that we were just there to ask questions and then leave? We dismounted. Arthur stifled a laugh as I sunk waist deep into the snow. “Don’t say a word.” I hissed, shouldering my rifle.

            I had to walk in his wake to get anywhere. As we got closer, I could make out what the men were saying to each other. “What are they saying?” Arthur whispered.

            “Mostly just complaining about how fucking cold it is and how bored they are. When are we gonna go rob something? That sort of stuff.” I sighed and stepped in front of Arthur as the snow became more shallow, “Seems like we’re in the right place.”

            As we reached the edge of the camp, the Del Lobos finally took notice, all bristling and turning to face us. “You’re in the wrong camp, stranger.” The closest man barked in English, gripping his rifle tightly.

            “We’re just here to speak with Hernandez.” I said, in Spanish.

            They all blinked and exchanged looks. “Why?”

            I raised my chin. “If my business is with your boss, I’m not going to explain myself to you, now am I? Is he here, or do I need to have my friend here teach you the proper way to speak to a lady?”

            The man looked a little nervous, but his companions all snickered. He steeled himself and straightened. “If the mujercita wants to speak to Hernandez,” He said in English, stepping aside, “Then she can try. He’s in the cabin.”

            I gave him the harsh look that would be expected for using such a familiar tone with a woman he didn’t know and led the way to the cabin. Arthur followed behind me, camera in hand, eyeing them all suspiciously. “Señor Hernandez!” I called, walking up to the door to knock, “Señor Hernandez, I need to talk to you.”

            My confidence as I wrapped on the door came from the fact that he wasn’t going to shoot a woman through the door. He’d at least check to see how I looked before he decided to shoot me. I heard cursing from inside and I stepped back, pushing my hat back off my head and preening a little, if only to get him to pause before getting worked up. The door to the cabin creaked open slowly and out into the cold stepped Flaco Hernandez. He seemed your typical poncho-wearing, bandolier-laden and grizzled Mexican gunslinger, with a sombrero to top it all off. “What the fuck do…”

            His sentence trailed off as his gaze rested on me. “Good day, Mr. Hernandez,” I said, as charming as could be, “May I speak with you?”

            The gunslinger took a couple wary steps forward. “And what would a little thing like you want to talk to an old man like me about?”

            “Jim ‘Boy’ Calloway.”

            He stopped, frowning. “What?”

            “I work for an author, Mr. Hernandez, we,” I glanced back at Arthur, “Are here to ask you about your stories and, if you would indulge us, even get your picture.”

            “And why would I do that?”

            “Immortality.” I said confidently.

            “What?”

            “Your story would be printed for all to read. We wouldn’t tell anyone where you are, just what you’ve done. The world would know your name. You would be recorded for the future generations to know, far beyond the time you will spend on this earth. You could become a legend.”

            “What kind of author would send you?”

            I moved forward slowly, closing the gap between us. “A smart one.”

            He eyes looked me up and down, a small smile playing across his lips. “Is that so?”

            “What man doesn’t want to brag of his deeds to a pretty lady?”

            Flaco chuckled and brought his hand up, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “And how do I know you aren’t some… very tempting bounty hunters?”

            I smacked his hand away. “Would a bounty hunter walk up openly armed?”

            “No, I suppose not.” He took my hand in his and gently kissed it, “Why don’t you come out of the cold, and I will tell you all you wish to know. Your friend can…”

            “He doesn’t really play well with others.” I said quickly.

            Flaco glanced back at Arthur. “He can join us too, I suppose.”

            I turned and looked back to find my companion tense and ready to draw at any moment. “Come on, Arthur, we’re going inside; just the three of us.”

            Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but he followed us into the small cabin. The inside was just as shabby as the outside. The small space was heated by a little fire pit. Trash littered the floor with only a cot and a trunk for furniture. Surprisingly, a stack of books sat on the bed. A piece of paper rested on the books, and Hernandez quickly folded it and shoved it into his pocket, moving to pick up the stack. I beat him to it, picking them up gently and flashing him a smile. I put them on the ground and as I stood, Arthur grabbed my arm. His cheek brushed against mine as he hissed in my ear. “I did not like the way you sad ‘just the three of us’.”

            “And here I thought you had my back.” I whispered back.

            I pulled away and gave him a wink as I sat down next to Hernandez. The gunslinger had taken off his hat and looked a little more relaxed, no longer having to look domineering in front of his subordinates. He patted the open spot on the cot on his other side. “Why don’t you sit here, friend, and I will answer your questions.”

            Arthur looked at me. “English, please, Señor,” I said, “My partner does not speak Spanish.”

            Hernandez grunted and watched Arthur sit next to him. “So who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?”

            “I think anonymity would serve us all well, Señor.”

            “Flaco,” He corrected, looking from me to Arthur, “I’m guessing you aren’t just some apprentices to an author, no?”

            “Perhaps,” I met his gaze and spoke firmly, “But we’re here to talk about you, Flaco, not ourselves.”

            “No,” He scoffed, “You’re here to talk about that cobarde, Calloway.”

            “Why do you call Calloway a coward?”

            This seemed to be a topic that Hernandez was eager to discuss. Arthur had the good sense to pull his journal out of his satchel and jot down notes. An hour must of past before Hernandez finally fell silent, standing and leaning against the wall next to the little fire pit. He lit a cigarette and sighed. “This is really all going in a book then?”

            I nodded. “We only have a couple more people to interview and then…”

            “Who?”

            Arthur answered before me. “Black Belle and Billy Midnight.”

Hernandez laughed. “Billy Midnight is a crazy pendejo, but Black Belle…” He took a long drag of the cigarette and stared wistfully off into the distance, “Now there is a woman.”

After a moment, the look faded and he came back to reality. He waved his hand, motioning towards the door. “That’s all I have to say. You should be going now.”

I stood. “But, what…”

He blew smoke out through his nose. “I gave you everything I am willing to give for free, mujercita.” He glanced over at me, “And you don’t look like a woman willing to pay for the rest.”

“Can we at least have a picture?”

Arthur shoved his journal back into his satchel and stood, readying the camera. Hernandez laughed and tossed the cigarette butte into the fire. “That will cost you a kiss, hermosa.”

“That’s not…”

Arthur began to protest but Hernandez cut him off. “Calm down, compadre,” Hernandez tapped his cheek, “Just a little kiss right here. I may be an outlaw, but I am no cochino.”

“Not a pig, no. But a dirty old man, maybe.” I teased, stepping forward and kissing him gently on the cheek.

He sighed and chuckled. “Gracias, mujercita, the memory of that will keep me warm in this god-forsaken place.”

I stepped back and Hernandez posed for Arthur, putting his hat back on and standing proud. He looked straight into the camera as if he were about to challenge it to a duel, one hand relaxed at his side, the other hand hovering at his hip, ready. With the picture taken, Arthur moved towards the door. I followed, but turned before leaving, addressing the gunslinger in Spanish once more. “Why did you agree to speak with us, if I may ask.”

Hernandez stepped towards me, closing the distance between us. His hand slipped just inside my coat, tapping at the pin hidden behind the lapel. “Because I am no idiot. How could I deny the company of one such as you.” He took my hand and kissed it, “Safe travels, beautiful.”

“Goodbye, Flaco.” I purred.

He sighed and put a hand to his chest, and I left, following Arthur back out into the cold. We made our way out of the camp silent and wary, mounted our horses and left Cairn Lake behind. As we rode back through Colter, Arthur spoke. “What were you saying there before we left?”

“I asked him why he had agreed to speak with us.”

“And what did he say?”

We slowed and guided Ontario as close to the other horse as I could, my leg brushing against Arthur’s. I held open my coat so Arthur could see the pin on my chest. “He said he saw this, and he just couldn’t say ‘no’.”

Arthur eyed the tree and sword emblem for a moment before answering. “Is that why you still have it then? Open doors for yourself?”

I shrugged, closing my jacket. “Why not? I may not work for them, but I can still make them work for me.”

He smiled and we let the horses return to a more comfortable distance. “You are sounding more and more like an outlaw every day, Miss North.”

“I will take that as a compliment.” I said, putting my hat back on, “You remember that piece of paper he was trying to hide when we first got into the cabin?”

“Yeah.”

I produced it from my pocket. “It’s a treasure map.”

Arthur laughed. “You didn’t.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“Now I just feel like you’re trying to show off.”

We rode out of the mountains and into West Elizabeth, down into Big Valley. I had to pull Ontario to a stop and just stay still for a moment as the forest gave way to a blooming, vibrant meadow. It was the picture of spring, with wildflowers dotted among tall grass that waved gently in the breeze that came down off the mountain. A creek cut through the middle of it, babbling and melodic, the sound mixing with the calls of the elk and the twittering of songbirds. My heart hurt as I looked upon it, awestruck. Arthur stopped a little ways up the road, turning in his saddle to look back at me. “You want to water the horses and rest for a bit?”

“Sure.”

I’m not sure I said it loud enough for him to hear, but he laughed and dismounted, leading his mare towards the creek. I shook my head, bringing myself back to reality and did the same. We sat on a large boulder and let the horses graze and drink and I pulled the map I had stolen from Hernandez out of my pocket, handing it to Arthur. “I don’t know why you’re giving it to me,” He said, looking it over, “You are the treasure hunter.”

“And you know more about this country than I do. You ever seen a rock that looks like an old man’s face?”

He scratched his chin, thinking. “Yeah, actually. There’s this place called Face Rock down in Lemoyne that looks like this.”

I took the map back from him and stuffed it into my pocket. “Well, if you ever fancy a trip to go find treasure in Lemoyne, Mr. Morgan, you just let me know.”

As I watched Ontario move through the grass, happy to be out of the cold, I could feel Arthur’s eyes on me. “Is there something else, Mr. Morgan?” I asked politely, turning to look at him again.

“How does a woman like you become a treasure hunter or… whatever term it is that you prefer.”

I fought a smile. “Treasure hunter is fine. And… I don’t know. I’ve always had a knack for finding things. An intuition. Put me in someone’s house and give me five minutes and I’ll have found all of their little hiding spots. Plus, I like riddles and puzzles, so that helps too.”

“Five minutes?” He said, skeptical.

I nodded. “Five minutes.”

“You’re just trying to get me to take you with next time I go rob a house, ain’t you?”

 “That’s a bold assumption.” I scoffed.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re just trying to brag.”

“Thank you. I am.”

We stared off into the field in silence for a moment, watching the horses graze. “Before we left, I had a talk with Dutch and Hosea about you, and there are others in camp who have been thinking the same…” he shifted uncomfortably, looking unsure of how to word his thoughts, “There are… The Order: it ain’t hard to hear strange stories, and…”

“You’re wondering if they’re true?” I turned on the rock so that I was facing him, “Well, what kind of stories have you heard?”

“Curses,” He seemed reluctant to answer, “Uh, you know,” he lowered his voice, “Witches and fae folk and monsters and all sorts of strange things.”

I looked at him a moment, suppressing my amusement at the conspiratorial nature of how he was speaking; as if someone might overhear us out here in the middle of the valley. “Mr. Morgan, have you ever seen anything you couldn’t explain?”

“You can’t spend as much time out in the wilderness as I do and not.”

“Right. We all have.” I was trying very hard to give as vague an answer as possible, “But to me, some of those things might not seem so unexplainable.”

“You aren’t gonna give me a straight answer, are you?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

He stood and sighed and whistled for his horse. She lifted her head and knickered, ears swiveling and trotted over. “You’re probably right.”

“Think of it this way,” I said, standing and stretching, “Even if you’re not riding with me, there’s always gonna be those things that you don’t understand, but if you’re with me, I’ll be able to handle those things.”

He rubbed his mare’s neck, mulling over my words. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Well, if you don’t have any more questions, we need to go see a man about a journal.” I whistled for Ontario, “He lives just north of Owinjila, so however you think would be the best way to get there…”

Arthur seemed relieved I had changed the subject. “We should just be able to take this road all the way there. Long as we don’t run into any cougars, it should be a nice ride.”

We both mounted. “Cougars?” I asked, trying not to sound nervous.

“Yeah, I always seem to find one when I ride up here, but with the two of us, we shouldn’t have any problems.”

I followed him back onto the road, trying not to think about how I had never seen a mountain lion in the wild before and had no intention of seeing one today. As the sun sank towards the west, the road took us around the base Mount Shann. Afternoon turned into evening and the sky began to glow red as we came around the western side of the mountain. Just as the creek that ran along the road met Lake Owinjila, I pulled Ontario to a stop and dismounted, stepping off the side of the road opposite the lake. Arthur turned in his saddle, watching me. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“The map maker lives in a cabin, just off the path,” I said, inspecting the trees, placing my hand against each, “Should be here somewhere.”

“I don’t see a cabin.”

I glanced back at him, trying the best way to explain that you weren’t supposed to be able to find the cabin unless you knew it was there. “You can’t see it from the road.” I replied.

It wasn’t a lie, and it wasn’t as if Arthur would’ve understood the truth. I passed a couple more trees before finding a tall ash tree, set a little apart from the rest of the ones close to the road. As I pressed my palm to the bark, I could feel a hum that made my fingers tingle. I looked back at Arthur. “Are you coming or what?”

He dismounted, unconvinced and came to stand next to me. “I don’t see anything here.” He gave me a skeptical look, leaning against the tree, “Are you sure this…”

As soon as his arm touched the trunk he pulled away, a look of panic in his eyes. “What was that?” He demanded.

I smiled reassuringly. “Nothing bad, Mr. Morgan. Just something weird. I thought you’d be expecting this.”

He looked between me and the tree. “I don’t get it.”

I held out my hand for him to take. “It will be quite clear in a moment. You just have to trust me.”

It took a moment, but he took my hand and we circled the tree, my hand still against it. As we came around, having made a full circle, the cabin was now visible. A little path lead from where we stood to the front porch. A sign carved from wood sat on a post about halfway between us and the building, declaring it as the location for Singh Cartography. Arthur started, moving as if to turn back, but I pulled him forward, keeping him at my side. “It’s all right, Mr. Morgan,” I assured him, my voice soothing, “We are where we’re supposed to be.”

“That wasn’t there before.” He said firmly.

“It was, we just couldn’t see it.”

Arthur just stared at me for a few moments. “This is where the weird shit starts, isn’t it?”

“It’s just a cabin, Arthur.”

He gave me a hard, unconvinced look. “No.” I said, “This is as weird as it gets for now. Now let go of my hand and let’s go get the fucking journal, shall we?”

“This is…”

“It’s what?” I demanded, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to say the word.

He tried a couple times, taking breaths but then just letting them go, before giving up and heading up the path. Arthur knew full well what had just happened. He knew why he hadn’t been able to see the cabin from the road. I watched as he stomped up the path towards the cabin, realizing that Arthur Morgan was a believer, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as I thought it was going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting a little weird, but let's be real, there are a lot of weird things in the Red Dead Universe.  
> This is a work in progress, if you have any suggestions on how I can improve, let me know!


	7. They're Hanging me Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing what can happen when you have someone around who isn't looking to shoot up a whole town.

The cabin was small and well-kept. Hedges flanked the steps that led up to a modest porch. I followed Arthur up the path and passed him as he hesitated at the stairs. I knocked sharply twice and then stepped back. There was a commotion from inside; what sounded like the scraping of a chair and the protesting of a cat followed by the toppling of a stack of books. The door cracked open slightly. “What do you want?” Demanded a voice from inside.

“We have an appointment, Master Singh. I’m Elaine North.”

The door opened a little bit more. “Identification?”

I stepped forward and opened my jacket, flashing him the pin. The door opened the rest of the way, revealing Singh. He was a tall, bespectacled man. His hands and shirt were ink-stained and his dark, shoulder-length was messy. He frowned. “You were supposed to come alone. Who is this?” he demanded.

I put my hands on my hips and gave him an unamused glare. “Do I look stupid enough to do that?”

He eyed Arthur warily. “No, but it’s dishonest.”

Singh turned and headed back into the depths of the cabin. I glanced back at Arthur and then followed, stepping cautiously through the doorway. Inside, it was impossible to tell what the walls were made of. Every inch of every open space was either map or bookcase. Books inhabited every flat surface, creating a maze out of the cabin’s interior. Arthur stepped in behind me, closing the door. We both hovered by the door. There was no other good open space to stand.

 Singh had disappeared, but I could hear the shuffling of papers and moving of books. “I must admit,” he said, reappearing from behind a stack of books, “I didn’t think you’d be coming for a couple more days.”

He disappeared once more amongst a stack of books. Arthur leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “Your five minutes started as soon as we stepped through the door.”

“Seriously?” I turned to look at him, “Right here? Right now?”

“What better place to prove your talent. If you can find something in here, you’d be able to find something in any house anywhere.”

I laughed, glad that Arthur had overcome his shock, and took a step forward, kicking a piece of parchment out of the way. “Challenge accepted, Mr. Morgan.” I said, trying to make my way forward without knocking over a tower of books, “Would you like me to explain the process to you?”

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway. He was doing his best to look comfortable, but his actions were all stiff and calculated. I could tell he was still a little spooked. “Why not?”

“Alright, well first, in a place like this, you have to think about accessibility.” I turned back to regard the room, “Anything important, you will want to have access to at all times, you want to be able to check on it or add to it but be able to do so without drawing attention.”

Most of the bookcases were walled in by stacks of stuff, but the one nearest to us was open to one of the paths that led through the mess of the cabin’s interior. I stepped up to it. “Someone like Singh, he’s got a lot going on. If he hid something, he’d have to make it memorable, or he’d forget where he hid it.”

“Were you saying something?” Singh reappeared, a very fluffy, very angry looking cat wriggling in his arms.

“I was just saying that we didn’t mean to scare you.” I said, smiling, “But I’m sure you understand why I would be so eager to get here.”

“Of course, of course,” He let the cat drop to the floor, “You just give me another moment, if you would.”

And he was gone once more. The cat sidled past me and began to rub itself up against Arthur’s legs. I snorted and returned my attention to the bookcase. I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, perusing their titles. “Singh is, despite the hoarding, quite organized. There is a pattern for everything, so you just have to look for a break in the pattern. If I’m right, then I can apply this method and find every spot in the house. So here…”

I turned to find Arthur with the cat cradled in his arms, its big bushy tail flicking contentedly as he scratched behind its ear. All of his wariness and fear had dissipated as the cat snuggled up against his chest, purring loudly. “You find yourself a friend there?”

He smiled as the cat shoved its head up under his chin. “Animals have always liked me.” He said smugly, “Clocks still ticking, Miss North.”

I cleared my throat, ignoring how endearing he was at that moment, smirking at me while holding a fuzzy creature. “As I was saying, there is a book about fishing in a row of eastern Asian geological texts.”

I removed the book from the shelf and found it to be unusually heavy. I opened it, revealing that the inside had been carved out to create a compartment. There, a small pistol sat cradled in the damaged pages. I picked it up gingerly for Arthur to see. “Damn.” He said, putting the cat down and stepping forward to get a better look, “But you know that doesn’t really count.”

“It was hidden.” I protested.

“But is it valuable?”

“I can explain!”

We both looked up to see Singh standing there, the color drained from his face. In his hands was a beat up, very old looking leather-bound journal. “You expecting some trouble, Mr. Singh?” Arthur asked, just the right amount of intimidating.

“Not from you.” He said, quickly, “Please, Lady North, you must believe me, it’s not because of you! I didn’t know what else to do! I’m a cartographer for goodness sake! I haven’t had this much trouble since Knox wanted that map of the Berkshires.”

“Who was here?” I demanded.

“Thugs.” He said, dropping down into a nearby chair, a look of disgust on his face, “Rude and aggressive. Hired muscle for some neanderthal too cowardice to come here themselves.”

I put the book back on the shelf. “What did they take?”

I approached Singh slowly. “I started making a map from Álvares’s journal.”

I cursed under my breath and picked up the journal, putting down a money clip in its place. “You only started the map, right?”

“It is incomplete.” He agreed, “And useless without the journal.”

“Good.” I said, turning and walking back towards the Arthur.

“Good?”

“Yes. Good, Mr. Singh. If I have the journal, and the map was incomplete then I still have more information than them. Do you know who they were working for?”

“They… they didn’t say but one of them dropped this.”

Singh fished through his pockets and produced a beat-up business card. I took it from him. It was muddy and the edges were worn but I could still make out the name. “Carter Jensen. Walker Private Enterprises.” I looked over at Arthur, “You ever heard of Walker Private Enterprises?”

“No but thugs with business cards tend to be mercenaries.”

I nodded and turned back to Singh, shoving the pistol into his hands. “I would think about making yourself scarce, Mr. Singh,” I said, “I doubt those ‘thugs’ will be happy when they realize they don’t have everything they need.”

I gave him one last look over my shoulder before stepping out the door. Outside, the sun had set, and clouds had rolled in. Little sprinkles of rain tapped against the brim of my hat as I followed Arthur back to the horses. “So, mercenaries. Seems this amulet you’re looking for is worth more than I thought.”

I sighed, clutching the journal to my chest. “It’s not uncommon for me to have competition. I’m not worried.”

“Is that cause you’re always ready for a fight?”

“Something like that. Should be easy enough to track down this band of thugs if I have a name.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

I shrugged as Ontario shoved his nose in my face, making it very clear that I had been gone too long for his liking. “They probably have offices in Saint Denis, or Blackwater. I’ll just have to take a trip one of these days.”

Ontario pushed my hat off my head and sniffed at my hair, stomping his hooves impatiently. Arthur just laughed and mounted his horse. “You ain’t in any hurry, are you?”

“I have strict policy of not worrying about competition until I’m actually sure they are worth worrying about. No need to go waste time chasing shadows when I have my own work to do.”

He gave me a skeptical look but didn’t push the topic. “We should get going. I don’t want to get caught in the rain.”

Just as he said it, the sky opened up and it began to pour. I gave him a dirty look. “You just had to say it didn’t you?”

I mounted up and we rode off towards Strawberry. By the time I was running up the steps of the Tracker’s Hotel, we were soaked to the bone. “Well, hello there folks!” The clerk said cheerily, “Quite a storm we’re having tonight!”

“Quite.” I said, unable to match his pleasantness.

Water dripped off the brim of my hat onto his desk and his smile wavered slightly. “Just one room for the evening?” He asked, his politeness holding fast.

“Just one.” I agreed.

“Well I don’t…”

I elbowed Arthur and he fell silent. I took the room key from the clerk with a thank you and climbed the stairs. “We aren’t staying the night, Arthur.” I said, unlocking the door to the room, “We just need somewhere to wait until later. There’s no bar so…”

“What are we waiting for?”

I pushed him into the room and closed the door behind us. “To break Micah out. This town is dry, there shouldn’t be anyone out and about in the dead of night, so we go then.”

Arthur lounged on the bed, folding his arms behind his head, tipping his hat forward over his eyes. “Oh, you have this all planned out, don’t you?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

He shrugged, face still hidden under his hat. “What’re you gonna do?”

“It’s actually more about what you are going to do, Mr. Morgan.”

He lifted the brim of the hat to give me a suspicious look. “Me?”

I nodded, taking off my hat and shaking off the rain. “Yes, you, Mr. Morgan, or were you thinking I was going to use my womanly ways to convince the deputy to hand over the jail keys.”

“I… may have been thinking something like that.”

“That’s all well in good but there is one big problem with that plan.”

Arthur sat up. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” I said shrugging off my coat, “But I have a very recognizable face.”

“So? And I don’t?”

“Are you a noblewoman with a reputation to keep? A reputation, by the way, that will probably save your ass multiple times.”

“Fine. What am I supposed to do then?”

“We’ll wait until it’s late, so there will likely be only one deputy on duty; one very tired, very bored deputy. You go in, say you’re Micah’s brother or something and distract him and I will do the rest.”

I pulled Álvares’s journal out of my pack and sat down on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t delicate, which was good; when handling antiques it was always a toss-up of whether it would crumble into dust in your hands or not. Unfortunately, as I opened it, I found Álvares’s handwriting near illegible. I could feel Arthur’s eyes on me. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Morgan?”

“I was just gonna say that there’s still time to get out of here and leave Micah to his fate.”

I gave him an unamused look. “Nice try. We’re breaking him out.”

He dipped the hat back down over his eyes. “Whatever you say, boss. Wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

\------------------              

A few hours later, Arthur and I were standing outside the Strawberry jail. The town was just as quiet as I had hoped. The only sounds were that of the creek that ran through the town and a distant, very active owl. I nodded toward the dark horse that was tied out front. “You think that’s the deputy’s.”

“No,” Arthur said, “That’s just Micah’s horse, Baylock.”

At the sound of his name, the horse raised his head and looked back at us. “Well, that’s convenient.”

“You sure we can’t just let ‘em hang? We still have time to just leave.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I’m supposed to be proving myself. What do you think Dutch would do if I were to go back and Micah had been hanged? I would’ve cost him a man.” I held up my mask, watching the moonlight reflect off of it, “Not that you care of course, since you wouldn’t be the one in trouble.”

“God, that thing is not subtle.”

“So?”

“Aren’t burglar’s supposed to be stealthy?”

I gave him a very aggressive and unamused look. He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. You’re right. You’re the boss.”

He couldn’t say it without laughing. “Just go and get the deputy to take you downstairs.” I growled.

I shoved him towards the door, still cackling as he stumbled forward. At the steps, he straightened his jacket, putting on a solemn face, and gave me one last glance before stepping inside. I put on my mask and pulled my bandana up over my nose, moving forward slowly to crouch beneath one of the front windows. “You’re his brother?” I heard the deputy ask.

“Brother-in-law,” was Arthur’s reply, “I cannot account for my sister’s taste in men. I have come to speak to him on her behalf. If he is to hang, I wish him to go knowing what he has done to her and her kind heart.”

He was good; even better than I had expected. Though, I should have known better, since the man was taught to lie by Hosea. The sincerity in his voice really sold the ruse. “You’re here awful late…” The deputy said.

“I didn’t know how long I had, so I came as soon as I could,” Arthur insisted, “And I would prefer to not make a scene. I am sure Micah will not take what I have to say well.”

There was a sigh and the scraping of a chair. I readied my rifle, gripping it tight to my chest, set to jump up and go to Arthur’s aid. “I understand your meaning, sir. I can only give you a minute, so choose your words wisely.”

“Thank you very much, partner. You are a good man.”

I peeked over the sill to see the deputy ushering Arthur towards the stairs. Arthur had left the door slightly ajar for me and I crept inside without a sound. I followed slowly as they made their way down the stairs. I could hear Arthur talking to Micah, how seemed to be going along with the ruse. I carefully came down the stairs behind the deputy, who stood on the bottom landing. Arthur stood in front of the cell that Micah shared with another man. A third man was by himself in the cell closest to the stairs. Both of the other prisoners wore green bandanas and vests. “O’Driscolls,” I muttered, “Of course.”

All eyes were on Arthur as he spoke, telling off Micah. One deep breath and I took my first step as an outlaw, smacking the deputy firmly in the back of the head with the butt of my rifle. He crumpled the ground. Everyone turned to look at me and I wasted not time in searching his pockets, collecting the cell keys. “You know,” Arthur said, watching me pat down the man’s jacket, “I almost thought you didn’t have it in you.”

I pulled down the bandana and stepped forward to unlock the cell. “And who the hell are you, then?” Micah demanded.

“Micah Bell, North.” Arthur said, introducing us as I tried different keys in the lock, “North, Micah Bell.”

The O'Driscolls were pressed against the bars of either cell, antsy and eager to escape. The one sharing Micah’s cell grabbed for my wrist. “Come on, darlin'" he cooed, “Hurry up and I’ll give you something sweet.”

I left the keys in the lock and grabbed the reaching hand by the wrist. “Sorry gentlemen, but we aren’t here for any O’Driscolls.”

I bent his middle finger back sharply, popping it out of joint. The noise he let out was so high pitched it was almost hard to hear. I released him and he stumbled back from the bars, and I turned my attention back to the keys. The lock slid open and I cracked the door just enough for Micah to slip out before shutting it and rocking it. I put the keys in the desk upstairs as we exited.

Outside, Arthur and I both whistled for our horses, who came trotting up the road towards us. Micah unhitched his horse, but then left him behind, jogging down the road. Arthur and I exchanged a brief look of confusion before running after him. “What the hell are you doing?” Arthur hissed as we caught up.

“I need my guns.” Micah replied, turning the corner and crossing the bridge over the creek.

He went up to the door of a house just on the other side. I sprinted forward, hoping the porch railing and putting myself in between Micah and the door. I caught his leg just as he lifted it to kick the door in. “What the fuck?” he demanded.

“I could ask you the same thing!” I snapped, doing my best to keep my voice hushed and sound angry at the same time.

“Spineless asshole took my guns and I ain’t leaving without them!”

“You’re not going to do that by kicking down a door and waking up the whole fucking town.”

“Who says I ain’t? Who the hell are you, telling me what I can and can’t do anyway?” Micah demanded, hopping around as he tried to pull his leg out of my grip, “Let go of my leg!”

“I will let you go if you go down the road with Arthur and wait at the stables. I will get your stupid fucking guns and then you can go murder or be murdered by whomever you like, on your own damn time.” I growled through clenched teeth.

Arthur grabbed Micah by the arm roughly so he would stop moving around and making so much noise. “You best just say yes to the lady,” Arthur hissed, “Or we will leave you to get shot to hell on your own.”

He stood there glaring at us for a moment, weighing his options. “Fine.” He spat, “But I don’t owe you nothin'.”

I shoved him backwards. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

Arthur led Micah off the porch and the two mounted up, Arthur grabbing Ontario's reins. I watched them take off down the road and then turned my attention back to the door. I pulled my bandana back up over my nose and tucked my braid into my hat, and then tried the knob. All this to get into a fucking unlocked house. I crept inside and immediately found what I assumed to be Micah’s guns.

A gun belt sat on the table, the butts of two ornate looking pistols poking out of the holsters. Whoever had taken them had been utterly certain that they would never see Micah Bell again. It was so easy I was mad. Micah was ready to get us killed over something that took me a little patience and a single minute. Idiot.

I slung the gun belt over my shoulder and left without incident. I jogged down the road towards the stables but slowed as I heard voices. “I can’t believe you brought a woman to rescue me.”

I crept closer until I could see Micah and Arthur standing in the shadow of the barn and crouched down behind some bushes. “She brought me, Micah. Dutch sent her to rescue you, not me.” Arthur growled, “Besides, you ain’t dead, and you ain’t been shot at so why does it matter?”

“Pride, Morgan, pride. How am I supposed to show my face when a little girl broke me out of jail?”

“I ain’t care much about your pride, Micah.”

“You’re getting soft, Morgan. Don’t think I won’t forget you takin’ orders from a woman.” Micah sneered, “Or are you just enjoyin’ your time alone in the woods with the pretty lady?”

“See, now you sound jealous and stupid.”

I covered my mouth, muffling a laugh. “What’s it matter, anyway? It won’t be a week till a pretty little thing like to give up on hard work. She’ll be perched on Dutch’s lap, doin’ anything to avoid doin’ anything.”

“Please say that to her face. See how well that goes for you.”

“Well, if you ain’t gonna do it, Morgan, I might just have to take little Miss North over in the trees over there and show her where to stick…”

“Who’s sticking what where?” I stepped out into the open, eager to not hear the end of that sentence.

They both started. “Do I need to give you two some more time alone?” I asked with a grin.

“No.” Micah snapped, disgusted.

“Oh good,” I moved forward and draped his gun belt over his shoulder, “Because we really should be going. No need to end up right back in jail.”

I turned and walked over to mount Ontario. “Yes,” Micah sneered, “You two enjoy you’re ride back to camp.”

“You’re not coming?” Arthur demanded.

“No, Morgan. I’ve been a bad boy; I’ve caused too much trouble. I ain’t going back to Dutch until I got a peace offering.” He mounted his horse and gave us both a hollow smile, “You stop by my camp round back of Strawberry if you want to have some fun.”

He spurred his horse and took off into the night. I watched him disappeared and sighed. “Well that sucks.”

Arthur turned to look at me. “What?”

“That was a lot of work for him to just go and fuck off.”

“You should get used to things not going well.” Arthur said, mounting up, “It’s something that happens a lot around here.”

I followed him away from the stables. “You think Dutch will be mad?”

“Sure, but there’s not much that can be done about it. I wouldn’t worry. Dutch seems eager enough to put you to work.”

“I suppose I will just have to try extra hard to impress next time.”

Arthur shook his head. “You really don’t want to disappoint, do you?”

“I have to make up for all the shit I say somehow. I have to prove I am more than a pampered tag-a-long somehow. If I can’t prove my commitment, how will any of you ever trust me?”

I followed as he turned off the road, riding into a grouping of trees. When we reached a little clearing, we came to a halt. “Well,” he said, dismounting, “Why don’t you prove your commitment to me right now and build a fire? Can you do that, or do I need to show you how?”

“I can start a fire, Mr. Morgan, I assure you.” I said stiffly.

“Good. I’ll be back.”

He grabbed a rifle off his horse and disappeared into the dark. I went about collecting stones and making a little circle before gathering tinder. After arranging the sticks, I looked around to make sure Arthur wasn’t around before kneeling next to the little improvised firepit. I cupped my hands together and gently breathed into them, focusing hard and conjuring a little flame. I held it for a moment, cherishing the sensation of the little magic against my palms before gingerly placing it in the nest of twigs like the little egg of energy it was.

I blew on it a couple more times, encouraging it to grow, adding kindling to feed it and before too long, I had a crackling fire, its warmth staving off the damp night. It wasn’t cheating, it was just being innovative; using all the resources at my disposal Arthur returned moments later, looking pleasantly surprised that I had already finished my task. “I’m sorry for doubting your abilities,” he said, settling down in the grass across the fire from me, “Seems you can start a fire.”

I sat, knees pulled up to my chest staring into the flames, replaying the events of the day in my head; a lot of success that I shouldn’t let be drowned out by a single failure. The fire was so inviting and warm and as I scootched a little closer to it, I had to remind myself that I was not in the kind of company where it would be okay for me to touch it. I looked up at Arthur to find him staring at me; handsome Arthur Morgan, who was just as ready to defend me as make fun of me. I liked to think we were getting along. “Miss North?” he asked, as we looked at each other across the fire.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan?”

“Does it… I know you were listening to me and Micah talk,” He looked down and picked at the grass by his feet, “Does it bother you when people make rude assumptions about… how we are spending our time out here?”

I fought a smile. “No. Not really. People will always assume, if I am riding with a man that I am his wife, or his sister, and I would never get anything done if I let that bother me. I know that they’re wrong, and you know that they’re wrong, so in my opinion, that’s all that really matters. It will always be hard for people to think a man and a woman can just be… partners… friends, and I have gotten quite used to rude comments and assumptions.” I sighed and took off my hat, setting it on the ground next to me, “I learned a long time ago, Arthur, that as long as you know the truth, then it doesn’t much matter what other people think. The jokes always gonna be on them.”

“And you think we’re friends or partners?”

My eyes narrowed. “I think we make a good team, Mr. Morgan. I wouldn’t want to go and assume we are more than we are.”

“You sure you wouldn’t prefer to be out here with someone else? Charles or John, or even Javier.”

“No.” I shook my head, “I like your company. That isn’t to say the others aren’t good company, but I think we work well together.”

“You’re a fool if you think any of us are good company.”

“You aren’t very good at taking a compliment, are you Mr. Morgan?”

“That ain’t… don’t give me that look.”

“And what look would that be?” I asked, mockingly innocent.

“Like you know me so well.”

The defensiveness in his eyes was remarkable. I wasn’t offended, though; I could see the wall he was putting up between us. Arthur Morgan was not ready for me to be nice to him. “Whatever you say, Mr. Morgan.”

I stood and walked over to Ontario, pulling Álvares’s journal out of my saddlebag, and returning to my spot by the fire. As I tried to decipher the old conquistador’s chicken scratch handwriting, I noticed Arthur pulling out an envelope. I looked up and watched him just stare at it for a few minutes. “That’s not one of mine is it?” I asked finally, when it seemed like he had no intention of opening the envelope.

He looked up, frowning. “No.”

“Sorry, Hosea’s made me a little paranoid.” I drummed my fingers against the journal in my lap, “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

“Why do you care?”

I held my hands up in submission. “I was just asking. All I know is, last time I didn’t open a letter it was because it was from my father.” I looked away, trying to ease the tension, “Which is to say, I know what it looks like to receive a letter from someone who has hurt you, and I know what it feels like when you don’t want to open it.”

“Why don’t you just stick to reading that journal?”

“I could open it for you.”

“And what would that do?”

I shrugged. “I could tell you if it’s worth reading.”

He stood suddenly. “You know what, fine. Read it. I don’t care.”

I stood as well, and he nearly threw the thing at me. I had to catch it before it fell into the flames. The envelope simply had Arthur’s name on it in scrawling, pretty script. This told me that it had been hand delivered, which seemed a little odd. I opened it gingerly and pulled out the letter, leaning closer to the fire so I could read the thin handwriting. The letter left a bitter taste in my mouth and I could understand why he had been putting off reading it. I folded that letter back up and returned it into the envelope. I stood and walked around the fire to hand it back to Arthur. He took it and put it back in his satchel. “What did it say?”

I circled back around the fire. “She is at Chadwick Farm, outside of Valentine, and she wishes to speak with you.”

“Is that all?” he scoffed.

“Pretty much; the rest was all…” the word ‘gas-lighting’ came to mind, but I decided a more neutral word, “Pontification.”

He said nothing, just stared down at his hands. “She sounds like… trouble.”

Arthur looked up. “All women are trouble, especially nosy ones/”

“That’s fair.” I sighed, pulling my knees up to my chest and holding my hands out towards the fire, “I suppose, since I know something personal about you, it would only be fair if you were to ask something personal in exchange.”

No response, he just kept his gaze on the ground. I shifted, trying to not feel so uncomfortable. “Nothing? Alright, how about a song instead?”

He looked up. “A song?”

I nodded. “A little music to ease the troubled thoughts.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at me from under the brim of his hat and gave me a curt nod, so I began to hum, trying to find a tune to ease the tension. “When I hear the rain a-coming down, it makes me feel sad and blue…”

I put a little extra something into the tune, trying to encourage rest and calm, an old bardic trick for turning any song into a lullaby. It wasn’t the happiest of songs, but it was soft, and now wasn’t really the right time for something upbeat. Arthur laid down on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching me as I sang. “The only sound within the room is the falling of each tear. I think about the thing I’ve done…”

The words echoed about the trees around us, the sad song a little eerie in the quiet night. I laid down as well, looking up at the sky and getting comfortable, head resting on my arm. The gentle magic of my own song lulled me to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. if you have any suggestions of how I can do better, let me know!


	8. Bésame Mucho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A test and some fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy.

I awoke what seemed only moments later to the first hints of dawn. Sitting up, I rubbed my stiff neck and looked around. The fire had died down, leaving nothing but glowing embers to prove it had been there. Arthur slept on his stomach, face tucked into the crook of his arm, snoring softly. I stood slowly, stretching. After years of hiking through deserts and jungles, I had gotten used to falling asleep on the ground, but that didn’t mean my spine appreciated it.

I knelt down and, after checking to see that Arthur was still asleep, breathed a little life back into the embers, adding some sticks to feed the newly resurrected flames. I stayed crouched close to it for a moment, willing it to fend off the damp chill of the morning, sticking my hand casually into the flames. It was so warm and inviting. As Arthur began to stir, I retracted my hand and stood, acting as if I had not just been playing with fire.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around with sleep bleary eyes. “Good morning.” I said cautiously.

I had hit a nerve with Arthur last night, and I was eager not to upset him again. He rubbed his face and pushed himself up onto his knees. “I usually don’t sleep that well on the ground.” He said.

Still got it, I thought smugly.  I said nothing and walked over to where Ontario was grazing. I had fallen asleep with Álvares’s journal in my arms. I put it away in the saddlebag, eternally grateful that I hadn’t accidentally ruined it. Arthur stretched and stood and shuffled over to his horse. He pulled a canteen, a percolator and a tin of coffee out of his saddlebag and went back to the fire.

I watched him kneel down and set everything up. He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You want some?” He asked, his voice gruff from sleep.

“No, thank you.”

I sat down on the opposite side of the fire, watching him brew coffee. My mind wandered as we sat in silence and I found myself thinking of Miss Mary Linton: the woman who broke Arthur’s heart. I wondered what she looked like; wondered how sweet and soft her voice was. I imagined how pretty her eyes were; imagined how her lips would part as she said your name. I hadn’t noticed I was humming until Arthur said something. “Ain’t never heard that song before. Never heard the one you sang last night either. Where’d you learn them?”

“Oh, here and there,” I said, evasively, “They’re much better with a guitar.”

“Guitar.” Arthur echoed, “Right.”

“I can play the guitar, Arthur.”

“Sure.” He said, unconvinced.

“And you seemed to like the song last night.”

“It put me right to sleep is what it did.”

I fought a smirk. “Maybe that was the point.”

He stopped in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee and looked up at me. I could see the thought floating around in his head, but I had no doubt he just dismissed it as teasing. There was a small part, though, that was curious. “Why don’t you sing one I know.”

“So you did enjoy it.”

Arthur finished pouring his cup and sat back in the grass, blowing gently at his steaming cup. “Like your friend said, it’s one of your few redeeming qualities.” He admitted finally.

“A song to apologize for sticking my nose in your business.”

He gave me a wry smile. “Seems about right.”

I shifted, sitting cross-legged and straightening, “And again, I preface, always better with a guitar.” I joked

“Mhmm. Just sing.”

I hummed a couple lines to myself and began to sing. “From this valley they say you are going; I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile…”

He closed his eyes and listened, sipping at his coffee, his shoulders relaxing. Arthur at like that for a while, just listening. There was nothing extra this time; it was just the sound of my voice putting him at ease. “…just remember the Red River Valley and the one that has loved you so true.”

We sat in silence for a little while as he finished his coffee. I picked at the grass, but I could feel his eyes on me. “Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Morgan?”

“What’s you’re middle name?”

I looked up, frowning. “My middle name?”

He nodded silently. “Well, I have two, actually, for my grandmothers.” I watched him stand and dump the remaining contents from the percolator onto the fire, “Esperanza and Cecellia.”

“Elaine Esperanza Cecellia North.” He mused aloud, walking towards his horse.

“Why?”

“Well,” he said, putting his coffee supplies back into his saddlebag, “Yesterday Dutch gave me something before we left. He said it was a present.”

He pulled a rifle from its resting spot on his saddle and turned, showing it to me. It had a long scope and ornate embellishment along the barrel. Arthur cam and sat down next to me. “It’s a very nice rifle but,” he showed me the butt of the stock, “I do believe it’s yours.”

On the stock, carved and inlayed with gold, were the initials E.E.C.N. I couldn’t help but smile. This was the present Connall had gotten me. It was definitely a rifle deserving of a bow. “Do you know what this is?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “No.”

I took it from him, feeling the weight of it in my hands. “This is a Sharps 1874 single shot rifle with an extended barrel and modified to take a long scope.”

“So the lady is a sharpshooter?”

I held it up, resting the stock against my shoulder and looking down the sights. They needed adjustment. “Oh, Mr. Morgan,” I crooned, “A lady never shoots and tells.”

He fought a smile as I nudged him with my shoulder and gave him a wink. “Hard to stay mad at me, isn’t it?”

“Aggravatingly so.” He grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

As I put away the rifle, Arthur kicked dirt onto the remains of the fire. I watched him, wondering what had compelled his display of honesty. Was it the fact I had apologized? Had Dutch been holding the rifle hostage, and it’s return meant that I had completed my task as expected? I wouldn’t put it past Dutch to be that devious.

\------------------

The journey back to camp was pleasant. We rode along the Dakota river, the sun shining bright and birds chirping. People actually said hello as they passed by on the road. It was even warm enough for me to shed my coat and push up the sleeves of my shirt. We talked a little along the way, mostly just discussing more about the gang’s past. I was fascinated by how Dutch had cultivated his little family and Arthur was eager to share stories about better times.

As we reached camp, we were greeted cheerily by Lenny, who was on guard duty. “Hello!” He beamed, “How was Strawberry? I see it’s still just the two of you.”

“He’s still alive.” Arthur said, sounding disappointed, “She wouldn’t let him hang.”

“Shame.” Lenny shrugged, “But at least he didn’t come back with you.”

Him and Arthur both laughed, and I left them behind to talk as I went to hitch Ontario. I had barely dismounted when I was immediately greeted by Bill and Javier. “Don’t bother hitching your horse,” Bill said gruffly, “We’re leaving soon as Arthur quits chatting.”

My shoulders sagged; I had been hoping to nap in my bed before having to do anything. “What? Where are we going?”

“Emerald Ranch.” Javier said, “Dutch has something planned for you, and Hosea is waiting there for Arthur.”

I didn’t like the sound of that, but I knew I had little choice. Bill left to go yell at Arthur and I turned to Javier, sticking out my lower lip and pouting. “Do I have to?” I whined playfully in Spanish, “I was just up all night saving an asshole from jail.”

He moved to stand next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, darling, but those are the boss man’s orders. We go where we are told.”

Like a gentleman, he helped me back onto my horse. I slumped in the saddle, staring off wistfully towards my tent while I waited for the others to get ready. What did Dutch have in store for me? I followed behind Javier as we left camp. As we crossed the railroad tracks, he slowed and pulled up close beside me, his leg brushing against mine. “You wanna talk?” He asked in Spanish, a smile on his lips and an excited glint in his eye.

“What about?”

“Anything.” He said, “I just wanna talk.”

I couldn’t help but return his smile. “Sure. Rob anyone lately?”

We talked the entire way, with me recounting Arthur and I’s rescue of Micah and him talking about how him, Charles, Arthur and a man named Trelawney had saved Sean from a bunch of bounty hunters a couple weeks ago. The longer we talked, the faster we talked, and the more I found myself liking Javier. He was so enthusiastic and excited to be speaking Spanish, and his mood was infectious. Arthur and Bill kept glancing back at us, Arthur with amusement and Bill with unease. “You all really hang out with a magician?” I asked incredulously.

Javier shrugged. “He comes and goes. Not really sure how good of a magician he is either. One thing I do know: he never shuts up.”

“Oh, one of those.” I laughed, “The kind that gets you to beg him to leave and when he does, it’s with your wallet and you’re not even sure it’s worth chasing after him.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

As we came upon Emerald Ranch, the conversation died down. “Hosea’s waiting for you at the barn, Arthur.” Javier said.

Arthur broke off, glancing back to tip his hat at me. “Dutch should be waiting for us at the train station.” Bill called back to us.

“Do you know what Dutch has planned?” I asked.

Bill fell in line with us and he shrugged. “No idea. He just said to bring you here.”

We continued on past the ranch towards the train station. As we got close, I could see Dutch sitting at a table with group of older men. They were laughing and talking loudly, Dutch’s distinctive voice carrying over to us. His eyes flicked up as we approached, and he made the slightest incline of his head. I watched him shift and undo the top buttons of his shirt as if he were hot. He tapped his chest twice, then relaxed back in his chair. I understood perfectly: he wanted a distraction for his new friends. I sighed and dismounted, taking off my hat and hanging it on the horn of Ontario’s saddle. I gave myself a moment to preen, adjusting my hair and undoing a couple buttons on my shirt, before approaching the table. Dutch looked up as I got close and gave me a big smile. “Well there she is!” He exclaimed jovially.

He held his arms wide, beckoning me in. The men all turned to look as I walked up and I rolled my shoulders back, pushing my chest out a little more. With their backs all turned to him, Dutch gave me a small nod. I just needed to play along. I blushed and stepped close the table, “I’m sorry I’m late,” I put a hand on the table and leaned forward, pretending to examine the domino tiles, “What’re y’all playing?”

All eyes were looking down my shirt. “It’s no matter, my dear,” Dutch assured me, his hand resting on the small of my back, “We are just playing dominos. Gentlemen, my niece, Amelia.”

I smiled sweetly as they all murmured greetings, eyes all fixed on me. “He’s been talking about you all morning,” One of them said, “It’s real good of you to take your uncle in like you are.”

“She is a saint of a woman.” Dutch agreed firmly.

He pulled me down to sit on his lap and I leaned into the kiss he planted on my cheek as if it was the millionth and not the first. “I hope you aren’t all beating him.” I said.

“Oh no,” Assured a man to the left of us, “He’s doing just fine.”

“I just want to finish this round,” Dutch said, “And then we can be on our way, my dear.”

“Sounds good to me.” I looked out at his opponents, “Perhaps you boys can teach me some dominos while you’re at it?”

By the end of the round, Dutch had cleaned them out, and with a couple smiles and well-placed compliments, not a single man was upset to see his money go. We departed and they all said good-bye with smiles and waves. I walked with Dutch over to where he had hitched his horse. “I’m guessing you were hustling them?” I asked as we made our way back over to Javier and Bill.

“Maybe a little.” He gave me a side-eyed glance, “You aren’t a bad actress, Miss North.”

“It isn’t hard to please a crowd like that. All you need is some cleavage and a pretty smile, Mr. Van der Linde, but something tells me you didn’t have me ride all the way out here just to give you a clean get away.”

“You are a smart woman,” Dutch said as we mounted up, “No, we are going to ride into Valentine. You and Javier are going to rob the back room of the doctor’s office.”

“I’m not in the habit of robbing doctors.”

“You ain’t robbing the doctor, you’re robbing the O’Driscolls that are running a business out of the back room.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

Dutch shrugged. “This is your test, Miss North, it’s your job to figure it out.”

He spurred his horse forward and took off, Bill following right behind him. Javier rode beside me. “So what’s the plan, boss?” He teased.

“Tell me everything you know about this backroom operation and I’ll tell you.”

\-----------------------

Thirty minutes later, Javier and I were sitting on the steps of the church in Valentine. I watched people move up and down the main street, contemplating my next move. “The doors lock from the inside?”

Javier shrugged. “I don’t know, probably. Everyone has to knock to be let in.”

He offered me a cigarette and I took it. I took a long drag and blew smoke as if it would conjure inspiration. “How many men are in there, do you think?”

Another shrug. “Not that many. Four, maybe five at the most. It’s not a very big space.”

I breathed in another great lungful of smoke. “We can take four men.”

“And how are we gonna do that, boss?”

I had to fight the blush brought on by his teasing smile. “With knives, I suppose. Can’t use guns that close to the sheriff’s office.”

He watched me stand, doing his best to not seem skeptical. “Whatever you say, boss.”

“Let’s go, cowboy,” I said, dropping the cigarette and grinding it into the ground with the heel of my boot, “If we don’t hurry, Dutch will be too drunk to buy us drinks.”

I held out a hand and he accepted it, using it to pull himself to his feet. “What do you mean?”

“Dutch is testing me,” I said, straightening my shirt, “He wants to see what kind of criminal I am, and I have every intent of showing him.”

I unbuttoned another button and adjusted myself. Javier’s gaze never left my face. “And what kind of criminal are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t get caught. We get in, we get out and get drunk before anyone even thinks something’s a miss.”

He followed me down the path, back towards the street. “You’re gonna put on a little show for them, then?”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I have to get them to open the door somehow.” I stopped as we reached the road and regarded him seriously, “Now, hair up or down, do you think?”

He reached out and touched my braid gently. “Down, definitely.”

It seemed like a slightly self-indulgent answer, but I took his advice. We rounded the corner of the jail, stepping into the muddy yard behind it. I combed my fingers through my hair, going over my little script in my head. Javier went and stood to the side of the back door to the doctor’s office, back pressed against the building. I took a deep breath and stood with my left side facing the door then rapped sharply. The peek hole slat slammed open. “What do you…”

The barking demand faded and the eyes beyond the slat widened at the sight of me. I smiled coyly. “Well, hello there, cowboy,” I said, my voice husky and sweet, “I was told you were looking for me.”

He cleared his throat, eyes flitting back and forth to see if there was anyone else around. “Really? O’Bryan sent you?”

I nodded, never taking my eyes from his, my smile never faltering. “H-hold on a second.”

The slat slammed closed and I glanced over at Javier. He gave me a small nod and readied himself, pulling a knife from his belt. I could hear the grind of a heavy latch being moved and the door opened. The O’Driscoll on the other side looked me up and down eagerly, a lopsided grin on his face. “The boys ain’t gonna be back for another twenty minutes or so,” he said, “Sure is nice of them to send you ahead.”

“They figured you deserved a little reward.”

I held a hand out to him and he took it, yanking me forward against him. “They’re damn right I do.” His hand slipped down to grab my ass, “Ain’t never seen a whore in trousers before.”

I craned my neck to bring my face closer to his. “They said you liked a commanding lady.” I whispered into his ear.

He melted a little against me, shivering. “Y-yes, ma’am.” He stuttered.

Internally, I was relishing knocking this guy out. He was alone and he called me a whore, and he was gonna get what was coming to him. I yanked on his bandana. “You ever been blindfolded, mister.”

He nodded. My smile turned a little cruel and I untied his bandana, folding it to make a blindfold. I thought he might whimper. I twirled my finger, motioning for him to turn around. He did so obediently. It was amazing how quickly you could get someone to let down their guard when they believed they were gonna get laid. As soon as his back was turned, I stepped all the way inside the back room, Javier right on my heels. I had to jump a little to reach, but I got my arm around the O’Driscoll’s neck, pulling him down into a headlock as Javier closed the door behind us. A few moments later he went limp in my arms and I lowered him to the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible. I regarded the space for a moment, noting the safe on the wall. “We have fifteen minutes,” I told Javier, “But we should try to be out in under ten. I’ll take the safe.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The safe was old and simple and every time the tumbler fell into place it made a very loud click. Javier appeared at my elbow as the safe door swung open. “Seems you have an expert touch.”

“If you’re impressed by this,” I laughed, pulling money clips out of the safe, “You should see me play the guitar.”

He paused for a moment, eyes fixed on me. “You play the guitar?”

“Among other things.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the window, “We can talk about it afterwards over drinks.”

A hundred dollars and a shiny new Schofield revolver richer, Javier and I made our exit through the window, but not before I had blown a sarcastic kiss to the unconscious O’Driscoll. “That was surprisingly easy.” Javier said, going through first.

“We were just lucky, really.”

I let him help me through the window. “Luck is all you need sometimes.” He said with a smile.

We stood there for a moment, his hands resting on my shoulders. “See something you like, Mr. Escuella?” I asked, amused.

He made the smallest downward glance and smiled before pulling away and shutting the window. “Of course, but I don’t think Smithfield’s deserves such a view.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Javier chuckled and returned to stand in front of me. He reached out and buttoned up my shirt for me. It was an intensely intimate gesture and I felt heat rise in my cheeks. He fixed my collar and his hand rested against my neck, thumb stroking along my jawline. My eyes met his and suddenly we were leaning in closer and closer. Our lips brushed for a moment in the briefest of kisses before he pulled away. “We should save this for later.” He said.

I sighed and followed him towards the back door of Smithfield’s. It was midafternoon, but the saloon was still busy. Dutch was at the poker table at the front of the saloon. Bill sat at the bar, staring intently at his bottle of beer. Javier and I split up, with me going to talk to Dutch and Javier going to see why Bill looked so glum. As I approached the table the men all grew silent. “Ah,” Dutch said, turning to look at me, “There she is. Gentleman, if you would excuse me.”

He took me by the arm, and we went to join the two other men at the bar. “Give up already, did you?”

“No, Mr. Van der Linde. We completed the job.”

“What?”

I pulled out the revolver and the hundred dollars and placed them on the bar. The bartender, who had been walking over to see if we wanted to order, turned on his heel and walked back towards the other end of the bar to serve a different patron. “This was all they had.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You wouldn’t have. Getting in and out without being noticed is kind of the point of burglary, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He glanced over at Javier who gave him a small nod and gave a me a wink when Dutch turned back to look at me. “Seems that my test was a bit too easy for you, Miss North.”

I frowned, not very anxious to know what that meant for me. “I think you’re just underestimating how capable I am.”

“Perhaps you’re right: I have underestimated you. I’ll just have to find more interesting tasks for you in the future.” He picked up the revolver, looking it over, “I’ll take this, you and Javier split the take. We’ll wait for Hosea and Arthur to come back from whatever it is they are doing and then head back to camp.” He put the gun in his hip holster and motioned to get the bartender’s attention, “In the meantime, why don’t we enjoy ourselves. You fancy yourself a poker player, Miss North?”

The afternoon had turned into evening by the time Hosea and Arthur walked through the doors of Smithfield’s. They came and sat with me, Javier and Bill at our table, where we had spent the past few hours ignoring Dutch’s attempts to get us to play poker and making Bill paranoid by only speaking in Spanish. Both Hosea and Arthur looked… dusty. “Has he made you all wait here this whole time?” The old man asked, settling into his chair.

Javier and I both nodded solemnly. Arthur took off his hat, banged off some of the dust and put it on the table. “So what test does he have lined up for you, Miss North?”

“Dutch had her and Javier rob the back room of the doctor’s office.” Bill answered for me.

“Had?”

 I smiled. “Only got about a hundred dollars, but it seemed to impress Dutch so I’m not complaining.”

 Hosea and Arthur exchanged a look. “And you’re just sitting here?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well,” Arthur let out a nervous laugh, “Ain’t the sheriff looking for you?”

I shook my head. “No Mr. Morgan, he is not. I imagine the O’Driscolls might be, but weren’t they already?”

“You did it quietly?”

“She did it very quietly.” Javier confirmed, squeezing the hand he had resting on my thigh.

“I am a burglar; may I remind you.” I said, standing, “And being a good burglar requires no one knowing you were ever there until it is too late. Drinks, gentlemen?”

When I returned to the table, they all smiled at me. Suddenly suspicious, my eyes narrowed. I put down their drinks. “Arthur here was just telling us about you being a right songbird,” Hosea said, “I have half a mind to think he’s lying.”

I sat down, glaring at Arthur, who was avoiding eye contact. “He’s not lying.”

Javier leaned in close. “You’d sing a song for us then, hermosa?”

They were all looking at me expectantly, aside from Arthur, who was doing his best to not seem like he had just put me in a corner. My cheeks were hot. “Any requests?” I asked reluctantly.

“Dealer’s choice.”

I gave them all a hard look. “Four on one is hardly fair.”

“Hey,” Bill said quickly, “I ain’t said nothin’.”

I stood once again. “You’re right, Mr. Williamson, you haven’t. Why don’t you tell me what song you’d like to hear.”

He blinked, a little shocked, but recovered quickly. “Yellow rose.”

I slapped my hand on the table. “Yellow Rose of Texas it is.”

They all got to their feet and followed me over to the piano. I sat down at the bench and tied my hair back before resting my hands on the keys. I closed my eyes, humming the tune gently, trying to remember how to play the song. A smile spread across my lips as I began to play. Ever incorrigible, I was going to give them more than they asked for. “There’s a yellow rose in Texas I am going there to see...”

A silence fell over the saloon as I sang, everyone entranced by the tune. I could feel a dozen eyes on my back. “You may talk about your Dearest Mae and sing of Rosa Lee, but the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee…”

My companions began to hum, and with a little push from me, several of the other patrons began to hum as well. The song echoed cheerily about the saloon, as people began to sing along; the cheerful tune was infectious and no one was immune. There was something undeniably joyful about strangers falling into song together… even if they were being mildly influenced to do so. The last notes faded out and I stood, stepping away from the piano before someone could ask for another song. I followed them all back towards the table, unable to suppress a smug grin. “Hosea,” I said, sitting down, “I believe you owe Arthur an apology for calling him a liar.”

The old man laughed. “How about I buy a round instead?”

None of us argued and he went to the bar. Arthur began to tell Bill about the fence him and Hosea had struck up a deal with. Javier’s arm rested casually on the back of my chair. I raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you, Mr. Escuella.”

He leaned forward. “You are quite impressive, you know that?”

“Oh?”

“You’re a fighter, a safe-cracker and you can sing. I’m beginning to wonder if there is anything you can’t do.”

I laughed softly and held his gaze. “Calm down, Mr. Escuella, I think you’re getting a little excited.”

He leaned in closer, his hand resting on my knee once again. “Maybe I am. You’re a very exciting woman.”

It was my turn to lean in, closing the gap so our noses were almost touching. We couldn’t kiss there, in front of everyone, but I could tease him as much as I liked. I gently grabbed his chin, keeping his eyes locked with mine. “Believe me, guapo,” I purred, “You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

Hosea slammed two bottles down on the table in front of us, effectively ending the moment. We both straightened, but he caught my hand as I let it fall to my side and held it under the table, his thumb gently rubbing across my knuckles. Heat filled my chest and it took everything I had not to blush.  Bill and Arthur were both just staring at us. “You’re a fast one, ain’t you?” Bill said.

“Excuse me?”

He was saved by Hosea, who turned to me and asked loudly, “So, Elaine, how did things go in Strawberry?”

“No one got shot, so I figure it went pretty well.” I answered, still giving Bill a hard look.

“Arthur says Micah didn’t come back with you two.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Bell. He said he wanted to come back with something to show for Dutch. He’s an interesting character, that one. Can’t say I was upset when he decided to stay behind.”

“He’s certainly…” Hosea drummed his fingers against his beer bottle, searching for the right word, “a bit of an ass.”

I opened my mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of a harsh argument coming from the poker table. “That’s bullshit.” Dutch barked, “How dare you…”

“That’s our cue to leave.” Arthur announced, pushing himself to his feet.

Bill, Javier and I all followed Arthur’s lead, heading towards the door without even having finished our drinks. None of us were in any particular mood for a bar fight. Hosea sighed and went to go get Dutch out of trouble. As we stepped out onto the porch, Javier offered me his arm. I accepted and let him lead me down the steps. “So, how are you going to spend your take, Mr. Escuella?”

He smiled. “I’ll probably treat myself to a nice bath.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A bath?”

He shrugged. “I’m in town, I’ve got a little spare cash… it’s not like its easy to get one at camp. I like to indulge in a nice warm bath whenever I can.

I had never before considered a bath a luxury; it had always been a necessity. Javier kissed my hand and stepped away, walking towards the hotel. I was so distracted by the realization that it took me a solid minute before what he had said really hit me. Was that an invitation? I looked up just in time to see him look back, pausing as he stepped through the front door of the hotel. Of course it was an invitation. I glanced over at Arthur and Bill, who were getting onto their horses. Bill wasn’t paying attention but Arthur was watching me. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking “Well, what are you gonna do?”

I looked to the hotel and back at him. Arthur gave me a small nod and a wink, and he rode off with Bill. I pulled the tie out of my hair, tossing my head to let it fall freely against my back and marched towards the hotel. The clerk smiled at me as I came through the door. “What can I do for you miss?”

“A gentleman just came in?”

“Yes, he paid for a bath, and…”

“Which way?”

He motioned towards the hallway off to his left. I breathed a ‘thank you’ and followed the directions. I felt a rush as I walked down the hallway; an undeniable excitement that made my heart beat fast. When I knocked, I could hear Javier inside, “Who is it?”

I opened the door and slipped inside, closing it silently behind me. Javier as sat in a chair next to the tub, humming softly to himself. He looked up at me, pausing in the middle of taking off his boots. “What can I do for you, Miss North?”

His tone was playful and his smile inviting. I crossed the room silently and straddled the chair, sitting on his lap. His hands rested immediately on my hips, pulling me close to him. I ran my hands over his chest and tugged on his bandana, pulling him even closer. “Bésame.” I breathed, leaning in so close our lips were almost touching.

Javier obliged tenderly. As we kissed, I let my hands roam, making quick work of his shirt and mine, and though it took me a fumbling moment for to remove my bra, soon we were pressed together, skin on skin. His fingers dug into my hips as I ground against him. I moaned softly as his mouth left mine and began to trail kisses along my jaw and down my neck. That must have been just the right response because I suddenly found myself being pushed to my feet, Javier backing me towards the wall. We pulled away from each other, laughing as we both bent over, tripping as we hurriedly tried to remove our shoes. As soon as the boots were gone, so were my pants and his.

I liked candles and silk sheets as much as the next girl, but there was something about being pressed up against something hard that made my spine tingle. Pressed against the wall, I sighed as his hands found my breasts. I peppered his neck with kisses, tangling my fingers into his hair with one hand and stroking him with the other. His hands slid down my torso and he squeezed my ass before lifting me suddenly. I laughed a little and wrapped my legs around his waist. “Is this how you want it?” He growled.

Unable to help myself, I smiled at him wickedly. “If you can handle it.”

I pressed my lips to his, biting gently. His grip tightened, pressing me harder against the wall as he began to thrust into me, stepping up to the challenge. I clung to him, fingers digging into his back as he buried himself into me, his gasping, moaning breaths hot against my skin. I pulled at his hair and sucked at his neck and whispered dirty things into his ear until he was spent and I was undone.

For a moment, after he set me down, we just stood there, panting. He was leaned against me, pinning me against the wall. Cheek to cheek, bare skin on bare skin, we caught our breath. Javier trailed feather light kisses along my jaw as he straightened. He took my hand and pressed his lips to it tenderly before pulling me towards the tub. “Come on, if we’re lucky, the water will still be warm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing smut. Please forgive me.


	9. El Paso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing ever goes the way we hope.

            The following days became a constant cycle of chores and hours spent pouring over Álvarez’s journal. I had never been one for routine and it made me feel itchy, but Tilly and Marybeth made very sure I was never too comfortable. When I was in my tent, they were there sewing or reading. They did their did chores alongside me while I did mine. I was their captive entertainment whenever I sat with Abigail for a sewing lesson. Even when I was bored, they found me interesting.

            Neither of them missed anything, especially when it came to Javier and I. Every lingering glance and whispered conversation in Spanish; the way we would sit next to each other by the fire at night. They never failed to comment how he would come and sit by us and play his guitar more often than he used to. I wasn’t embarrassed, and he didn’t pay any mind to it either. It didn’t stop the kisses stolen behind tents when no one was looking, and as long as we didn’t speak in English, no one knew what we were saying to each other.

           I quickly found myself making a game of it, because why not? It made my time less boring. When they asked questions about how I was spending my free time, I would talk about boxing and the finer points of gun maintenance. When they asked me about boys, I would go on at length about how lovely Molly looked that day. Sometimes, though, I would give them something they found intriguing; telling them that Javier had taught me the song that I was humming or that Arthur was helping me fix the sights on my rifle. This went on for about a week and a half.

           The air was cool, but the sun was bright so I had elected to spend my time reading Álvarez’s journal outside at one of the tables instead of in my tent. After reading a passage that I found particularly interesting, I was about to get up to go find a map when Tilly sat down across from me. I fell back into my seat, putting the journal back on the table, and looked at her expectantly. “Can I help you, Miss Jackson?”

            “Are you ever gonna finish reading that thing?”

            I looked down at the journal. “It’s not an easy read.”

            “And, let me guess, Javier has been helping you?”

            I gave her a hard look. “What?” She smiled, “It’s not my fault you’re the only interesting thing going on around here.” She leaned in closer, “We’re all dying for a little… excitement.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Excitement?”

            “Yes!” She said emphatically, “You’re like a living, breathing romance novel. First you come running in with Marston, then you’re running off with Morgan and now, Javier…”

            “Javier what?”

            Her eyes narrowed as she rested her chin in her hand. “It’s surprising, is all.”

            “I’m full of surprises.”

            “I’m just curious how it came about?”

            I glanced over at the ammo wagon where Javier was talking animatedly with Arthur and Charles, dressed as impeccably as he usually was. I could hear his laugh carry across the camp. I smiled. “It just… happened.”

            “He sweep you off your feet?” She asked teasingly.

            I met her gaze. Technically... “You could say that.”

            “Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

            I gave her a mockingly innocent look. “Say what?”

            “Say that you’re with him.”

            I ignored the pang in my chest her question brought on. “Nie dziel skóry na niedźwiedziu.”

            Grabbing the journal, I pushed myself to my feet. She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “What does that mean?”

            “It means,” I said, circling around the table and leaning in close, lowering my voice, “Never assume what is in someone’s heart until they show you.”

            It was the best advice I could give a young woman: nothing breaks your heart faster than not knowing the difference between fun and love, and I knew from experience. I straightened and did my best not to notice the way her smile faded. I didn’t want to think about her feeling bad for me. “Now,” I said softly, “If you excuse me, I need to find a map.”

            As I walked away, I could feel her eyes on my back and I knew that we would talk about this again. I made my way towards the ammo wagon and the three men loitering there. They all went silent as I got close. “Good morning, gentlemen.” I said, scrutinizing them each in return, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

            Charles and Arthur both looked pointedly at Javier. “No, not at all.” Arthur smiled, “You need us or the wagon?”

            I glanced at the map that hung on the side of the wagon behind him. “I need your map, actually.”

            He frowned but straightened and stepped aside anyway. “Don’t you got your own?”

            “Your map has all your little notes on it.” I said, stepping closer to examine it, “I want to see which of your notes match Alvarez’s.”

            “You still ain’t finished reading that thing yet?”

            “It’s hard to read.” Javier said, in my defense, “The handwriting’s worse than yours.”

            Arthur said something snappy in response but I was no longer paying attention. Using my finger, I traced the route Alvarez described taking from Flat Iron Lake into the Heartlands, and then up into the western Grizzlies. From there, he described riding along the edge of a frozen lake, but there were quite a few lakes in the region. Then, I saw Arthur’s little drawing and notation just north of Lake Isabella and something clicked in my brain. “Mammoth!” I exclaimed.

            They fell silent. “Excuse me?”

            I flipped through the journal until I found the page I was looking for. “As we rode along the rock face, out of the snow appeared a visage,” I read aloud, “Tusked and terrible it reminded me of the mount of Hannibal.” I turned excitedly, “He meant mount as in steed, not mountain.”  
            I received only blank stares. “Hannibal was a famed Carthagian general who rode elephants across the Alps to fight the Romans in 218 B.C. Arthur found a mammoth skeleton here near Isabella.”

             Still nothing. “Mammoths look like elephants.”

            “That’s interesting.” Charles said politely.

            “Yes.” I agreed, holding the journal tight against my chest, “Yes, it is.”

             I turned and started to walk back towards my tent without answering, but Arthur caught my arm. “No.” He said firmly.

            I looked at him innocently. “What?”

            “You ain’t going on your own.”

            “Who said I was going anywhere?”

            “I think you did.” Javier said, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “You wouldn’t want to come. It’d be cold and boring…”

            “And rife with mercenaries.” Arthur cut me off.

            I gave him an insulted glare. How dare he just go and know me so uncomfortably well? “Mercenaries?” Charles asked, suddenly genuinely interested.

            Javier gave me a hard look, “You never mentioned mercenaries.”

            “The man that I got the journal from said that some thugs had come looking for a map that he had made from the journal.” I shrugged, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

            “You’re not worried that someone’s gonna find what you’re looking for before you?”

            “She doesn’t worry unless she’s sure they’re worth worrying about.” Arthur answered for me, sarcasm dripping from every word.

            “It’s not a big deal, I’m just gonna…”

            “No.” They all said at the same time.

            I put a hand on my hip and looked at them expectantly. “Well what are you all suggesting then.”

            The three of them exchanged glances. “Let us go with you.” Javier said, stepping closer to me.

            “And then you can play treasure hunter to your heart’s content.” Arthur said.

            I regarded them all for a moment, feeling a little like I was being treated like a doll. “As if Dutch is just gonna let me run off with three of his best men.”

            They said nothing, but all gave me expectant looks. “Fine!” I said, throwing up my arms in exasperation, “We’re leaving in thirty minutes. Dress warm.”

            I closed the tent flap behind me and began to change into warmer clothes. Ambarino always seemed to be freezing, but I could only imagine what it would be like to camp out over night there. Once changed, I began to pack, going through my chest before turning and picking up my Sharps from where it leaned against the coat rack. I hefted it, running a hand along the barrel, and down the stock, my fingers lingering on the initials carved there. I was still getting used to not just going wherever I wanted whenever I wanted.

            Once I was all packed, I shoved my hat onto my head, grabbed my things and marched out of my tent to go attempt to get Ontario ready. Kieran had been gleefully helping me learn how to tack a horse and while I still wasn’t proficient, I wasn’t in the mood to go ask for help. As I approached the horses, I found Ontario had already been tacked. Javier and Arthur were on either side of him, readying their own horses. “I can take care of my own horse.” I said, loud enough for the both of them to hear

            Javier smiled but said nothing. “I’m sure you can.” Arthur said, adjusting his saddle, “But I figured you wanted to leave sometime today so I thought I’d give you a hand.”    

            I moved to put my things on Ontario, purposefully colliding with Arthur. He laughed, even as my shoulder dug into his back, and moved obligingly. “Thank you.” I huffed, “But I need to practice if I’m ever going to learn.”

            Arthur turned and looked me over, crossing his arms over his chest. “You always wear black?”

            “The vest is red.” I said defensively.

            “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

            I threw him a dirty look over my shoulder as I mounted Ontario. “Just because I’m better dressed than you doesn’t mean you need to be rude.”

            There was something utterly satisfying about riding out of camp in the lead. It made me feel more in control than I had in months; I was going where I wanted to and not where someone was telling me to, and these assholes had to follow me. “All I’m saying is this better be worth going north.” Javier muttered to Arthur behind me, “I was hoping I would never see that place again.”

            “It’s just a little cold.” Arthur replied, unsympathetic, “Just wear a better jacket and you’d be fine.”

            Charles rode alongside me as we made our way north along the river, both of us enjoying the quiet while Javier and Arthur kept arguing about the cold. We had past Cumberland Falls before he spoke a word. “So you think there’s some treasure up there?”

            “Yes.”

            “And there’s going to be mercenaries?”

            “Maybe.”

            “You really enjoy doing this, don’t you?”

            I smiled. “Yes. I do.”

            He nodded solemnly and remained silent the rest of the ride.

            Arthur had made the suggestion that we spend the night at Colter and then head out at first light. It was a good call, as the sun was setting by the time we made it to the desolate little village. We set up in the barn and I was given the task to starting a fire while they went to make sure all the other buildings were clear. The fire took no time at all so I busied myself by seeing to the horses.

            I put them all on the one side together so they could keep each other warm, but little else got done. When my three companions returned, they found me making kissy noises at Charles’s mare. I couldn’t help myself: she was sweet and kept bumping her nose against my chest while I brushed Ontario. In the absence of a dog to baby, I was finding horses to be the next best thing. I gave her a kiss on the nose as Arthur came over, leaning against the stall door. “Enjoying yourself?”

            I laughed as Ontario nibbled on my jacket collar. “Maybe a little.” I said, gently pushing Ontario away.

            Arthur opened the stall door for me and we went to sit with the other two at the fire. Charles looked relaxed, but Javier was unhappy. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his sombrero pulled low over his eyes as he glared at the fire. I moved closer to him, pressing my shoulder against his. “Chulo,” I cooed, “Why the frown?”

            “Javier ain’t to fond of the cold.” Arthur said, barely suppressing a laugh, “Could use a little señorita to keep him warm.”

            “Shut up, Arthur.” Javier hissed.

            I rolled my eyes and leaned over, pulling my pack closer. Producing an extra jacket I had the forethought to bring, I draped it over Javier’s shoulders. “Should one of us be keeping watch?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

            “Yes.” Arthur grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, “I’ll do it.”

            It wasn’t long before Javier and Charles had fallen asleep, both laying as close the fire as was tolerable. To me, however, sleep seemed far off. I was buzzing with anticipation, my mind racing as I tried to imagine how tomorrow would pan out. Thoroughly antsy, I went outside. Arthur stood under the overhang of the barn’s roof; collar turned up against a wind that whipped dusty snow about the dilapidated buildings. It was cloudless night; peaceful besides the wind. He looked over at me. “Can’t sleep?”

            “Who could sleep with all the noise.” I joked.

            He chuckled and leaned back against the barn. He nodded towards the east, towards the trail leading to Cairn Lake. “You think Hernandez is still up there?”

            “He’s seemed too smart a man to stay anywhere long.” Movement up the street caught my eye, “But speaking of Del Lobos…”

            Arthur straightened and tensed. A lone wolf stepped into view, bathed in the light of the waning moon. It stared at us, smoke-like breath curling from its mouth as it huffed. “It’s just a wolf.” Arthur whispered, annoyed, “Not any…”

            “Arthur, ‘del lobo’,” I whispered back, “Means ‘of the wolf’.”

            “Oh.”

            We watched the creature as it stood there, watching us. After a few moments, it turned it’s face to the sky and let out a long howl. The sound pierced the still night, echoing about the collapsed buildings. There was something thrilling about it that made my heart beat fast. As the howl faded, I took a step forward, compelled by some wild fancy, and called back, matching the sound as best I could. It huffed at me, a little perplexed looking, and then howled again. More howls joined the chorus from far off and, barely containing my laughter, I howled along with them.

            The sound faded and the wolf regarded me one last time before turning and disappearing into the night. I turned back to Arthur, smiling broadly. He gave me a funny look. “You’re strange, you know that?”

            “Strange, sure.” I stepped back under the overhang and stood next to him, “But is there anything more freeing than a little strange behavior.”

            He gave me with a lopsided grin. “You feeling free, Miss North?”

            “I think we’re getting there, Mr. Morgan.”

\--------------------

            I watched the sky turn pink with the promise of dawn. It had been quiet since I had taken over the watch from Charles, but now, with the rising sun, birds began to chirp and elk called out in the distance. I turned as I heard the creak of a door. Javier stepped out into the cold, eyes still bleary from sleep, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. I couldn’t help but smile as his presence brought a warmth to my chest.

            Cursing under his breath, he made his way over to stand next to me. I stole the cigarette and took a drag. The smoke burned my lungs but spread warmth through my limbs. We stood there in silence for a while, sharing the cigarette and watching the sky lighten. As he hovered close, pressed ever so gently against my shoulder, I felt all of the nervous energy that had kept me awake all night being funneled into a different kind of frustration.

            A chilling gust of wind blew past us, kicking up snow, the cold air cutting through my jacket. “I don’t know how you can stand the cold.” He muttered, huddling closer.

            My heart beat a little faster, excited by his touch. “Just hot-blooded, I guess.” I took off my gloves “You want to share a little warmth?”

            He flicked the cigarette into the snow and opened his jacket, pulling me into it. “How can I say no to that?” He laughed.

            I pressed close, wrapping my arms around him as he held the jacket closed around us. “Better?”

“You are so warm.” He said accusingly.

            He looked down at me those dark eyes and I knew where his mind was wandering. I rubbed his back, trying to generate a little warmth. “Aw, probecito,” I kissed his neck, “So chilly.”

            His skin flushed as I kissed him and I couldn’t help but smile. “You know,” I said, nuzzling against him, pressing my hips against his, “I can think of some other ways to fend off the cold.”

            He inhaled sharply and pulled me harder against him. “Tell me more, tentadora.” He said with a smile.

I pressed my lips to his. “Tentadora?” I asked between kisses.

            He hummed affirmation against my skin, sending a tingle down my spine. I slid my hand up over his chest, caressing his face before grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. “Oh, cariño,” I purred, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

            He swallowed hard as I trailed kisses down his throat. My other hand was working on his belt. I released my grip on his hair and caught his mouth in a kiss as I untucked his shirt. My hand hovered there, palm pressed against his stomach, fingertips just under the waistband of his pants. “I’m gonna get you nice and warm,” I breathed, kissing the corner of his jaw, “But only if your promise to return the favor.”

            I slid my hand down into his jeans and stroked him gently. “Mierda.” He hissed.

            “Do you promise?”

            My grip tightened a little as I nipped at his neck. “Yes,” he breathed, “Lo prometo.”

            “Then come on, cowboy,” I pulled away, beckoning him to follow, “Let’s get you warmed up.”

            Had I taken being called a temptress as a challenge? Maybe. Did Javier spend the trek up through Spider Gorge looking off into nothing because I had sucked out his soul? Perhaps. Was I smug about it? Just a little. Arthur and Charles hadn’t said anything, despite the obvious reason why they had awoken to find no one was keeping watch. It was freezing, but Javier had a smile the whole ride.

            As we reached the end of the gorge, we found four horses waiting patiently for absent riders. Arthur immediately looked over at me. “Still not worried.”

            I regarded the footprints that marked a thin trail leading up the back wall of the gorge. “Still not worried.” I said, dismounting and grabbing my pack, “Looks like we’re walking from here.”

            Getting up the trail was easy enough for me, but the men moved more slowly. The trail was narrow and the spent the whole way shuffling sideways with their backs pressed against the rock face. The foot prints led up to a cave that wasn’t visible from down where the horses were. I waited on the ledge at the mouth of the cave, staring into the darkness of the space before me, waiting for them to catch up.

Arthur regarded me and then the cave. “Is this where you tell us you’re afraid of the dark?”

            “I’m not afraid of the dark.” I said defensively, taking a lantern from Charles, “I’m just… not fond of it.”

            I held the lantern aloft, anxiety knotting my stomach as the circle of light illuminated only a couple feet of the path in front of me, unable to truly penetrate the darkness. I wasn’t a fan of the dark, but I wasn’t about to admit it aloud. They all smartly made no comment and followed me down the tunnel. The path sloped downwards as it led into the mountain. “So what do we know about these mercenaries?” Javier asked.

            “A name.” I said, eyes scanning every inch of ground and wall as it was illuminated, “Nothing besides that.”

            “You didn’t think to look into them?”

            I glanced back at him. “There’s four of them and four of us. I like those odds.”

            He just shook his head and we continued on. It took everything I had to not feel suffocated by the dark. It was hard to not be on edge; every little sound, every little movement on the edges of your vision caused alarm. It would send a prickling sensation rolling across my skin. The pressure to be cool and collected weighed heavy on my shoulders.

Besides the echoing of my own heartbeat in my ears, the passageway was tauntingly silent. It was making me nervous. If we couldn’t hear the men we were following, it meant that they might not be able to make noise. Gas deposits, cave-ins and all manner of creatures could be waiting ahead and we wouldn’t know. “How much further?”

            I yelped and jumped, Javier catching my arm before I could trip. “Shit!” I hissed, “Don’t do that!”

            “Sorry.”

            I stood there for a second, letting the shock wear off. “Alvarez said he went nearly a mile before it opened up to a cavern. It shouldn’t be too far now.”

            “Good.” Arthur grunted. “What would possess someone to just go into a cave like this? He weren’t looking for something, was he?”

            I took a steadying breath before continuing onward. “He was paranoid; thought Cortez was coming for him. He wanted to make sure that he would never be able to get back what he stole.”

            “And was Cortez after him?”

            I laughed dryly. “Of course not. He was busying solidifying his grip on Mexico and getting a new wife. Sure he was probably mad when he found out that someone had stolen a gift from the King of Spain, but it’s not like he knew where to look.”

            “If he thought he was being followed, why write it all down? Isn’t that just asking for someone to take the stuff you just hid.”

            “Seems like he meant to come back for it and died before he could.”

            “How do you know he didn’t come back?”

            I held up the journal. “The last entry talks about heading south along the Dakota. And there’s blank pages left at the end, so it’s a pretty solid assumption that something prevented him from making further entries and thus meaning he didn’t come back for his shit.”

            “Anything besides the amulet?” Arthur asked.

            “Whatever else he stole from Cortez: gold, jewelry, books, most likely. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

            The talking helped ease my nerves, as did the lightening of the passage ahead. As Álvarez had described, the passage opened up into a cavern. Light filtered down through crevices that leaked in snow from above. Stalactites and stalagmites stuck out from the ground and ceiling like teeth, crowding the space. The sounds of voices echoed faintly. “You hear that?” Javier said.

            “Yeah,” I dug in my pack, looking for the journal once again, “It’s a good sign.”

            “Good sign?” Arthur asked.

            “It means that the path ahead is safe.” Charles answered, holding his lantern higher to better illuminate the cavern, “Probably, anyway.”

            “Exactly,” I agreed, handing my lantern to Javier, “Now, I think this part will be tricky.”

            “And why is that?”

            “You’ll see.” I found the page I was looking for and looked around the cavern, trying to get my bearings, “Anyone have a compass?”

            Arthur dug on out of his satchel. “Don’t you have your own?” He teased.

            “I do, but I don’t feel like looking for it. Which way’s west?” I looked in the direction in he pointed, “Charles, could you lift the lantern a little higher?

            He obliged, making it just bright enough along the outer edge of the cavern to see the ledge and passage I was looking for. It was probably ten feet off the ground. I could make that easily. Javier whistled. “How are we supposed to get up there?”

            I dumped my pack and shed my coat and hat, stuffing my gloves into the back pocket of my pants. “Like this.” I said.

            With a running start, I got two steps up the wall and caught the ledge. I pulled myself up and immediately found how our opponents had gotten up. A length of rope was wound around a rocky column, waiting for them to come back this was. I grabbed the end of the rope and sat down on the ledge, dangling my feet, looking down at my companions. “I thought you said it was going to be tricky.” Javier called up to me sarcastically.

            “It was.” I tossed the rope and used it to get back down, “I would like to see you do that.”

            I collected my things and watched the others climb the rope. “Hard to imagine your conquistador doing this.” Arthur huffed as he pulled himself up onto the ledge.

            “They didn’t.” I said, climbing up after him, “This was a rocky wall that they climbed up easy,” I let him pull me up the last foot as if I weighed nothing, “Two hundred years of water flow has smoothed it out.”

            This passageway was better lit than the last but was wet. Snow dumped in from crevices, covering the ground, half-melted and slushy. As much as I hated the sludge underfoot, I much preferred it to the dark. Slipping and sliding, we made our way towards the voices. As we got closer, I could make out what they were saying. “We need to hurry up! I’m freezing my ass off.”

            “Jensen said to grab everything so we’re grabbing everything. More stuff we get, more we get paid.” Someone huffed in response.

            “Alright,” I whispered, “We should be able to surprise them.” I turned to look back at Javier, who was just behind me, “We just go in sl…”

            I miss-stepped just as the path sloped downwards and fell on my ass, sliding down into the cavern. Four panicked faces stared at me, all frozen, hovering over a pair of muddy trunks. Scratches along the floor led to the crevice they had pulled them from. “Oh, no,” I said, pushing myself to my feet, “Don’t stop on my account.”

            My companions entered the cavern behind me. Arthur whispering as he stepped past, “Real graceful.”

            Pride now as soggy and sore as my ass, I pulled my pistol from its holster. The mercenaries looked at each other, then at the four guns leveled at them. They dropped everything, raising their hands high in surrender. “You can have it.” One said quickly.

            They were all young and very green: the lowest in the pecking order forced to do the worst job. They weren’t looking for a fight. I frowned, a little annoyed. “Softest mercenaries ever.” Javier said, unimpressed.

            “It’s because the amulet’s already gone.” I gave the four men a hard look, “And all of this,” I motioned to the trunks with my pistol, “Is just a bonus, right?”

            They all nodded. “They took the artifact last night.” One of them blurted, “We’re just here to clean up and…”

            “Shut up!” Another hissed, slapping him upside the head, “You really just gonna run your mouth?”

            “I don’t know about you all,” the first one said, “But I’d like to not die today.”

            I inhaled sharply, my patience wearing thin with how disappointing this all was. They began to bicker. “Hey!” I barked, “Shut up! Faces against the wall.”

            They all froze for a moment, then scrambled away from the loot. “This is so fucking disappointing.” I muttered, kicking one of the trunks.

            “I know,” Javier agreed, picking up one of the bags they had dropped, “Not even a shootout.”

            “You don’t want to be in a shoot out in a cave.” Arthur said, “Loud as hell.”

            “Gold’s good though.” Charles offered, examining the contents of the trunk in front of him.

            “How much?” I asked.

            He shrugged and held up a gold nugget to the light, “Enough to say this was worth our time.”

            I sighed and took the bag Javier handed me. Turning to face the mercenaries, I straightened, hefting the bag over my shoulder. I whistled loudly. “Alright,” I told them, “You all count to a thousand and then you can leave. No trying to come up behind us. It’s pretty hard to collect a paycheck when you’re dead.”

            It was an empty threat but they didn’t know that. Four silent nods conveyed their agreement to the terms, all still facing the cavern wall. Turning, I followed my companions back into the passageway, doing my best not to slip again. On the way out, the dark didn’t seek as suffocating; I was too busy feeling embarrassed to think of anything else. It was hard to prove yourself among outlaws when your ass was wet. All I could do was ride back in silence, care for my wounded pride and find some better way to how that I could handle myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, I am always trying to improve.  
> *Nie dziel skóry na niedźwiedziu is Polish and means 'don't share the skin while it's still on the bear' (Elaine was telling Tilly not to get ahead of herself)
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://smithandrogers.tumblr.com/)


	10. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part of the show were we say 'fuck tuberculosis'

            “You are not gonna go collect from Thomas Downes.”

            I gave Arthur a hard look across the table. The amusement in his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And why’s that?”

            “You can’t just go and beat a poor, sick man down for money you had no business lending him in the first place. You know he doesn’t have it.”

            “All I hear is you thinkin’ you can tell me what I can and can’t do.”

            Everyone at the table had gone quiet, abandoning whatever they were doing in favor of watching us; half wary, half excited. Every eye was on us and I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t about to let Arthur do anything to Downes. No matter how much I liked Morgan; I wasn’t afraid to go toe to toe with him. I had seen Downes in Valentine several times now; he was kind and generous and charitable… and sick. Arthur wouldn’t be able to touch Downes while I was still breathing. “I’m not telling you what to do, Arthur,” I said, trying to sound calm, “I’m telling you I’m not gonna let you hurt that man.”

            “How do you even know…”

            “I’ve heard how your ‘collections’ work. I heard what you did to that guy at Emerald Ranch, Morgan. You’re no saint and I’m not stupid.”

            “So, what about the money then? Just gonna…”

            I pulled a money clip out of my pocket and tossed it at him, hitting him right on the nose. “There’s you’re damn money; plenty to cover what he owed plus interest, since you are so concerned about it.” I leaned forward, eyes narrowing, “I’m warning you, Arthur Morgan, every bruise you give Downes, I’ll give you.”

            “You’re a feral little thing, aren’t you?” Arthur taunted.

            I was halfway standing, ready to vault over the table and tackle him when a hand rested on my shoulder. “Miss North, you don’t seem very busy.”

            I sat back down under the pressure of Dutch’s grip. Everyone went back to their bowls, knowing the excitement had passed. I looked up at Dutch. “Is there something you need me to do, sir?”

            His moustache twitched with a hint of a smile. He liked it when I called him sir; he’d never admit it, but I could tell. Dutch liked small acts of respect like that, and I was inclined to make sure he liked me. “I want you to go into town and check in at the Sheriff’s office. Take…” He looked up, regarding the table’s occupants, “Javier and Arthur with you. They can pick up a couple of bounties while they’re there.”

            “What do you want me to do?”

            “I want you to find out about the bounties on our heads. I don’t want bounty hunters sniffing around just because one of these fools didn’t feel like paying off a $20. See if the sheriff has anything interesting to say while you’re there.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Good.” His hand squeezed and then left my shoulder.

            Arthur and I both watched Dutch leave with bemused expressions. “Didn’t you just turn in a bounty yesterday?”

            “I think,” Arthur said, pushing himself to his feet, “My only role is as babysitter.”

            I followed him, both of us walking towards the horses. “Babysitter?”

            “You have an uncanny ability for riling up O’Driscolls.”

            He wasn’t wrong. My last trip into Valentine had ended in a fist fight and two O’Driscolls with broken jaws. Sean had been delighted. Dutch had lectured us about lying low and not attracting too much attention. “They started it.” I stepped up to Ontario, patting his neck, “No street brawls, but I’m not gonna promise anything else.”

            He rolled his eyes and we both mounted up, waiting for Javier to join us. We sat there in silence for a moment. Arthur watched me watch Javier make his way across camp towards us. “You really like him?”

            I gave him a sideways glance. This was him trying to get payback for me threatening to beat him up. “I like a lot of people in camp.”

            “You know what I mean.”

            I tugged on the reins and Ontario side-stepped closer towards Arthur’s mare. I looked down, not wanting to give away any more than I wanted to. “Maybe, I do. Would that be so bad?”

            I could feel his eyes on me as Javier mounted his horse and we turned in unison to exit camp. “Guess I had you figured all wrong, Miss North.”

            I turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

            “All this time, I thought for sure you were a heartbreaker and now…”

            I snorted. “I know you did.”

            He frowned. “You knew?”

            “You already told me that, in Smithfield’s, when you got shit-faced with Lenny.”

            He seemed a little taken a back. “I did?”

            I nodded, giving him a wicked smile. It was incredible how quickly the tables could turn in a conversation. “You said I had some look in my eye, said that I ate fools alive.”

            “I don’t remember that.” He huffed, looking away.

            “And what did you say,” Javier finally spoke up, “When he said that?”

            I glanced back at him. “I asked him if he was a fool.”

            His eyes lit up, obviously very ready to join this little game of make Arthur uncomfortable. “Then what?”

            I looked over at Arthur, a little surprised by Javier’s willingness to join in. “I don’t know, Morgan, what did happen next.”

            Arthur shook his head, shifting in his saddle uncomfortably. “I don’t remember.” He said, gruff and unconvincing.

            I was still a little mad about Downes, so this embarrassment I was causing Arthur felt satisfying. Javier’s response to this interaction though, was throwing me off. “Lenny does.” Javier said with a laugh, “Maybe he could refresh your memory.”

           “It’s not that important.” I said, not wanting to poke too much fun at Arthur, “Wasn’t nearly as exciting as Arthur trying to drown a man in the pig trough behind the bar.”

            That brought Arthur back around. He chuckled. “I do remember a little of that.”

            It felt natural to ride with them and laugh, listening to them talk, defending myself against their jabs. I had been with the gang almost a month now and I was finding it was easy to fall with their rhythm.

            We came up to the sheriff’s office, Arthur warning us about the bounty he had brought in the prior day. “A real wild little thing.” He said, dismounting, “Immediately started trying to butter up the sheriff. Doubt he’ll be in a good mood.”

            As soon as I stepped through the door, I left both of the them at the bulletin board and approached the sheriff’s desk. When I opened my mouth to speak, I was interrupted by a shrill voice from behind me. “Well if it ain’t the cocksucker who brought me in. Come back to break me out did yah?”

            Arthur hadn’t lied. The sheriff closed his eyes and sighed deeply, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. I turned to see the woman in the cell, arms shoved between the bars and leering at Arthur. She was well enough dressed, but her skirt and hair was mussed from sleeping in the cell all night. I frowned, put off by the wild look in her eyes and turned back to the sheriff. He pushed through his exhaustion and smiled at me pleasantly. “Something I can do for you, Lady North?”

            “I was in Strawberry a couple weeks ago and there was talk of a prisoner escaping…”

            He sighed. “Yes. Nasty business that.”  
            “Well, I heard talk that the madman is still in the area, and I am planning on taking another trip there. I was wondering if you had a poster of him or something, so I know who to be avoiding.”

            “A very prudent request.” He said, turning and opening a drawer in his desk, “I do believe I have one. Let us see.”

            He pulled out a stack of posters and was about to go through them when the back door opened. A deputy jerked his head, motioning for the sheriff to follow him. The sheriff stood, adjusted his hat and gave me a small nod. “Excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment. Feel free to look through them. The man’s name is Bell, if I remember correctly.”

            I watched him leave, following the deputy out back and just as the door swung close, I saw him step up to the door at the back of the doctor’s office. I immediately looked over at Javier and Arthur. “Did you see that?”

            “I knew that fucker was in their pockets.” Arthur hissed.

            “I don’t know how they afford him.” I turned and inspected the desk, thumbing through the stack of bounty posters the sheriff had left for me, “Especially when they have an empty safe.”

            “It’s not surprising.” Javier said approaching the desk with Arthur, “The way they hang about town, there had to be something up.”

            Micah, Bill and Sean all had posters in the stack. I took each out, folding them and then putting them in my pocket to give to Dutch later. The last poster, however, I held up for Javier and Arthur to see. “Looks like I owe you a hundred dollars, Morgan.”

            He stepped forward and grabbed the poster from me. It was his bounty for helping Micah escape. “Awful picture.” He mumbled, reading the charges as I began to go through the desk drawers.

            I pulled open a drawer and found several money clips. They were bounty payouts or O’Driscoll payoffs. Either way, they were fair game. I collected a hundred dollars, leaving plenty behind, and for the second time that day, I threw money at Arthur. “There, now we’re even.”

            He caught the clip and stared at it for a moment, eyes wide with surprise. He looked from the money, to me, to the desk and then back again before reaching across the desk and grabbing my arm. Pulling me around, he cursed under his breath and marched me out through the door. “You’re insane!” He growled.

            He was trying to sound angry but was undermined by his own broad grin. The girl in the cell shouted something after us, but I was too busy being man-handled to hear what she shrieked. I stumbled as Arthur marched me away from the jail. My hat fell off my head as I struggled to keep my feet under me, the stampede sting catching at my throat. I couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled me along. Javier was right at our heels. I could hear him laughing behind me as I was drug down the street. We came to a stop outside of Smithfield’s. “I can’t believe you stole from the sheriff.” Arthur said, exasperated, shaking me a little, “That is the opposite of keeping a low-profile.”

            I shrugged, trying not to giggle. “Seemed like a good idea.”

            That just made Javier laugh harder. Arthur just shook his head. The grip on my arm almost bone-crushingly tight, Arthur steered me into the saloon. “I need a drink.” He announced, then gave me an accusatory look, “You’re drinking too.”

            “I don’t think you’re supposed to be rewarding this kind of behavior.” I chided.

            “Shut up.”

            He pushed me into a seat and motioned to the bartender. “Just think, Arthur,” I said, putting my hat back on my head, “Now that you don’t have to pay off your bounty yourself, you can spend that money on something you want… like a nice rifle or a new horse.”

            Arthur frowned and shoved a shot glass into my hand. “A new horse?”

            I gave him a look. “Come on, we both know you don’t like the one you got. It doesn’t even have a real name. Every time we ride out, you’re always eyeing up Ontario. You want a new horse.”

            We threw the shots back in unison. “Maybe I should just take Ontario and buy you a new horse; you know, one you can actually see over.”

            “You’re not funny.”

            “Come on.” He smiled, “That horse is nearly as tall as I am. I don’t even know how you manage to mount up on your own.”

            I looked him dead in the eye. “I have a lot of experience mounting tall things, Mr. Morgan.”

            He shook his head and looked away, gritting his teeth as he tried not to laugh. “How does Javier handle you?”

            I looked around for the man in question. “No one can,” I spotted him, still standing by the front door, “Remember?”

            Arthur turned to look in the same direction as me. Javier had been stopped at the door by a pretty red head. I recognized her as one of the working girls who used the rooms upstairs. She was touching his arm and giggling as he spoke. “Ain’t he just a charmer.” Arthur muttered.

            Javier glanced up and our eyes met. He looked uncomfortable. I found myself trying to decide whether or not I should go save him. “You trying to get him into trouble?” I asked, watching Javier trying to step away from her.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            I rolled my eyes. “I’m not the jealous type Arthur, don’t try it.”

            Arthur gave me a strange look, not knowing what to make of that. “So you’re just gonna…” He waved his hand, “Let him go upstairs with her?”

            Even as he said it, Javier was politely pulling away from the girl, anxious to make his escape. Turning back I gave Arthur an unamused look. “What?” He said, handing me another shot, “Maybe I want to see you beat up someone besides me.”

            “Then find me some O’Driscolls.”

            “Querida.” Was the first word out of Javier’s mouth as he came up on my other side, leaning in and kissing my cheek.

            I looked over at Javier, eyebrow raised. “So, was that pretty girl asking you for directions, vaquero? She looked kinda lost.”

            He hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond and I laughed.

            “Elaine!”

            We all looked around at the sound of my name. Above us, Lenny hung over the railing of the second floor, waving down at me. I gave him a small wave back. “Lenny.” I called back.

            “Do…” he paused, looking around to see if he was bothering anyone, “Do you speak Chinese?”

            “Mandarin or Cantonese?”

            He froze, panic crossing his face. “There’s… I don’t…”

            “No, it’s fine,” I said waving and shaking my head to stop him, “Yes. I can speak Chinese.”

            “Good.” He straightened and looked around awkwardly for a moment, “Uh, could you… you know, come up here?”

             I looked between Arthur and Javier as I slid off my chair. “Sorry, gentlemen, duty calls.”

            They both rolled their eyes. As I walked away, I could hear Javier mutter to Arthur, “Did you know he was here?”

            Lenny met me at the top of the stairs. “So,” He said, guiding me by the elbow, “About the Chinese…”

            “Yes,” I said, “Why do you need someone who speaks Chinese?”

            “Right.” He said, “There’s this guy offering money for a job. It seems like honest work for good money, but…”

            “You’re suspicious.”

            “Well, if you can’t necessarily understand what a man is saying, you’re not always inclined to trust him.”

            I nodded. “Fair enough. I can play translator for you.”

            “Well, if you want, you could come with too.” He shrugged, “If the pay is good enough, that is.”

            “What a kind offer Mr. Summers.” I smiled, “We aren’t killing anyone, are we?”

            He laughed nervously, eyeing other patrons as we passed. “No. No. No. He wants something delivered into the city and he doesn’t speak much English so I figured you’d be the man… er… woman for the job.”

            “It’s good to know you have such faith in my linguistic abilities.”

            Lenny snorted. “Who else is there? I don’t know anybody who can speak as many languages as you. I figured, if anyone knew, it’d be Elaine.”

            A warm feeling spread in my chest. It felt good to be needed; to be considered an asset. “There are few I can’t speak, for future reference.”

            “Good. Most of the gang is useless. Sure you got Javier and Strauss, and Sean and Molly can speak Irish… Trelawny knows a whole lot of French but that’s about it. No one knows Chinese or Latin or... I don’t know, whatever else.”

            “Thank you, Lenny.”

            He smiled. “You’re welcome. Oh,” He grabbed my arm as we got close, “Now, he was telling me a miner…”

           We both looked over at the man in question. He looked too well-kept to be a miner; clothes too nice, skin too clear, hair too well-maintained. “Oh, well that explains your suspicions.”

           “Yeah, exactly. You ever seen a miner dress like that?”

           “Never. You think he’s a conman?”

           Lenny raised his eyebrows, a silent ‘probably’, and sat me down across from the short, thin man. He held a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a pipe in the other and was looking down at a newspaper he had spread over his lap. “So,” he said, not looking up, “Can we get back to it?”

           His accent seemed forced and half-hearted. Fake. I gave a sideways glance at Lenny, who was looking at me expectantly. “We just have a few questions for you, Lee.” Lenny said.

            The man, Lee, nodded slowly, still not looking up. “Yes. Questions.” He set his glass down and muttered to himself, “ _Always with all the questions. Why can’t they just say yes_.”

            He was not speaking Chinese. “ _We just want to know what we’re getting into._ ” I said politely.

            Lenny smiled, impressed that I responded in the same language as the man. Lee looked up at me and went sheet white, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. I exchanged a look with Lenny, both of us confused by his reaction. “ _What the hell are you doing here_?” the man asked accusingly.

            I raised an eyebrow. “ _Helping my friend here earn some cash. You speak Japanese very well for a Chinese miner._ ”

            He stared at me and I began to feel uneasy. My hand rested on my holster. “I’m sorry.” Lenny said, trying to regain control of the conversation, “Is there a problem here?”

            “He’s not a miner.” I said.

            “Well, that’s obvious.” Lenny crossed his arms over his chest.

            “You’re an outlaw.” Lee pointed at me aggressively.

            “He’s not Chinese.” I continued.

            “You’re a fucking oath-breaker.”

            An oath-breaker. I sat back in my chair, not necessarily stunned, but definitely a little surprised. “Excuse me?” Lenny demanded on my behalf.

            “It’s fine, Lenny.” I said, “He’s not a conman.”

            “A conman?” Lee demanded. “Is this some ploy?”

            I sat forward, folding my hands on the table. “It’s not. I didn’t know you were going to be here, and you didn’t know I was friends with Lenny here.” I glanced over at the railing, spying Javier and Arthur still sitting down at the bar, “So, either you can curse at me a little louder, and a couple gentlemen downstairs will come join us, or you can just tell us about the job so we can all move on with our lives.” I nodded to Lenny. “Go ahead and ask him what you want to know.”

            “I wanna know what the hell is going on? Do you know this guy?”

            I shook my head. “No. Never met him.”

            He looked over at the man. “But you know her.”

            “We all know her.” Lee said ominously.

            “Mr. Mysterious is with the Order.” I clarified, “You know, the people who aren’t happy with me.”

            “Aren’t happy?” Lee demanded, incredulous, “You’re banished, that’s a…”

            “Maybe we should just leave.” Lenny interrupted, glancing between me and Lee, moving to stand.

            I pushed Lenny back into his seat and shook my head. We were going to wait this one out. All three of us sat there in silence for a moment. “I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Lee said finally.

            “Fine. Don’t talk to me; talk to Lenny. I’m only here because he thought that you were trying to rip him off. I was just supposed to play translator. Now, are you gonna tell him about the job or should we just leave.” 

            “No.” He said quickly, “Don’t leave.”

            “Decided you want to talk to us now?”

             “I cannot talk to anymore degenerates. I may get in trouble for this but at least you can finish a sentence without spitting.” Lee rubbed his eyes and sighed, “I need someone to drive a wagon.”

            “We can do that.” Lenny said, “Where are we taking the cargo to?”

            “Saint Denis.”

            “Where are we taking it from?” I asked.

            “I will bring it here into town _._ ”

            “You told Lenny you were a miner.”

            “A mine nearby is shutting down. We are helping them transport… supplies to their new mine outside Annesburg.”

            Lenny’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in the cargo that it can’t go by train?”

            I looked at Lee expectantly. Lenny was smart, he knew the right questions to ask. Lee breathed sharply through his nose. “It’s delicate. Nothing explosive or volatile; just sensitive.”

            That was code for either illegal or possibly ‘weird’. A typical Order contract. I nodded to Lenny, signaling that this was acceptable. Lenny leaned forward, giving the man a hard look. “How much are you paying?”

            The man picked up his drink and regarded it before answering. “A hundred each. Twenty-five tomorrow when you pick it up and the rest when you deliver it safely to the city _._ ”

            “That’s fifty each and a hundred for the gang.” Lenny whispered to me.

            “Is that good?”

            He chuckled and patted my arm. “Yes. It’s pretty damn good.”

            We both straightened and regarded the man. “It’s a deal.” Lenny said firmly.

            The man just stared at us for a moment. I could see him turning it all over, trying to decide if this was just the annoying coincidence it was, or if this was something more. Lee muttered something under his breath in Japanese and downed the remainder of his drink. “I will meet you at the train station tomorrow, early. You’ll want to be in Saint Denis before the end of the day.”

            He left without another word, not giving us a second glance. We watched him walk down the steps and leave out the front door. “Can we trust him?” Lenny asked.

            “Yeah. That was pretty typical as far as Order jobs go. They not very big on giving out info.”

            “It seemed weird.”

            I chuckled. “Only because I was making him jumpy. It’s not usually that… uncomfortable. In fact, you all have probably done jobs like this for the Order before. You’d never know they were any different from any of the other shady stuff you usually do.”

            We started to make our way down to Arthur and Javier. “You sure you want to do this? I could ask…”

            “I’ll go with you, Lenny.”

            “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

            I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning and patting him on the arm assuredly. “Trouble? Lenny. Think of who you’re talking to. We’re only in this saloon because I took money out the sheriff’s desk drawer and Arthur dragged me in here before the sheriff could notice.”

            He just looked at me a moment then shook his head, putting an arm around my shoulders and walking me back towards the bar. “I’m not gonna even ask. Saint Denis, here we come.”

\----------------

            We rode back to camp, talking the entire way of how we might spend our time and money in the city. Lenny was adamant about buying some new books for himself and Hosea, saying that the gang’s library was a little stale. I only knew that I needed binoculars and was anxious to see a little civilization.

When we arrived at camp, we split up, eager to prepare for the next day’s journey. I stopped at Dutch’s tent first, handing over the bounty posters I had collected from the sheriff. He said nothing to me; just groaned and marched past, shouting out for Williamson. I quickly went over to the girls’ tent before I could get pulled into it.

            Marybeth and Karen read while Tilly and Abigail sewed. Jack sat nearby, playing in the grass. Karen and Abigail hummed a song together but stopped as I approached. “Good afternoon, ladies.” I said cheerfully, sitting down with them.

            Tilly looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Have a good time in town, did you?”

            “I did actually. Lenny and I got ourselves a job.”

            Marybeth set down her book. “You and Lenny?”

            I nodded. “We’re going to Saint Denis tomorrow.”

            “Saint Denis?”

            The younger three girls shared a look of excitement. “And,” I continued, “I was wondering if you ladies would like anything from the city.”

            Their eyes widened. Abigail just smiled, not looking up from her work, aware of the tempest I had just unleashed upon myself. “I want a journal!” Marybeth said, eyes bright, “Mine’s all old and near full. Oh, I would love if you could find a green one.”

            Tilly grabbed my hand and gave me a serious look. “I need more of the that olive oil stuff you gave me. Or if you find any hair combs…”

            I laughed. “Of course! Karen?”

            “I think I’d like an accessory for my good hat. Something feathery. Nothing big, but definitely flashy and fashionable.”

            The girls continued to go on, talking about all the things they missed about cities and fashion and sweets and so on. “Very good.” I moved over to sit next to Abigail, bumping my shoulder against hers, “What about you, Miss Roberts, what would you desire?”

            Her face turned very red and she looked up at me with surprise. The word choice caught her off guard. “I… uh…” She stumbled over her words, “I would like… not desire, no. I would like a… book for Jack maybe? He’s in need of a new storybook.”

            I looked over my shoulder at Jack. “You want a story book, Jack? Full of knights and dragons and noble deeds?”

            “Yes!” He called over, a big smile on his face.

            “Good. Now what do you want, Abigail?”

            She set her sewing down and gave me an exasperated look. “I… you don’t need to get me anything. I don’t need anything.”

            “A surprise then.”

            She huffed. “No, that’s not…”

            I was already standing up and walking away. She deserved something nice and I wasn’t going to let her say that she didn’t. Miss Grimshaw required some prodding before admitting she wanted a hand mirror. I had to run away when she tried to shove money into my hands.

            Molly required no coaxing, but it took her a full five minutes to decide that she wanted a journal, of all things. She was so overjoyed that I had asked her, she gave me hug. She acted as if I was the first person to have talked to her all week and as I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel bad for her. She must have been terribly lonely, cooped up in Dutch’s tent all day.

            Sadie just stared at me for few moments when I asked her. “You want to know if I want anything from the city?” She repeated flatly.

            I nodded. “Yes.”

            I had sat down next to her on the overlook. She fiddled with the pages of her book absent-mindedly. “Why?”

            I shrugged. “Why not? Does there need to be reason to give a gift?”

            “Gift? For me, from you?”

            “Yes. A gift, for you, Mrs. Adler. Is there anything that you would like?”

            I could see her swallow something harsh; a snappy response or maybe even tears. She was a hard woman and it was difficult for her to accept something she viewed as charity. I waited patiently for her to choose her words, prepared whether they were kind or scathing. “That is very kind of you, but I do not want anything new.”

            I nodded, understanding what she meant. She wanted something old; she wanted something that was once hers. Sadie would never ask, but she wanted to recover something from her old home. “Something old, then.”

            She inhaled sharply and looked over at me. “You don’t need to…”

            Her words trailed off as I stood. “I will see what I can do, Mrs. Adler.”

            “I… thank you.” She said softly, looking away.

            “You’re welcome, Mrs. Adler.”

            I walked way, trying to plan out a route from Saint Denis to Ambarino that would make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. If you have any suggestions on how I could do better, just let me know!


	11. Apple Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> QLST: Quality Lenny Summers Time

            The ride into Valentine the next morning was frigid. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep my balance as I road side-saddle. I had spent the early hours of the morning being prodded and primped by Marybeth, Tilly and Molly and somehow riding like this was more uncomfortable. The thin linen dress the girls had chosen may have been appropriate for the heat of Lemoyne, but it did little to fend of the chill of a spring morning in the Heartlands.

            While I was precariously perched on Maggie, Lenny was just as uncomfortable on Ontario. Back at camp, I’d needed help to just to get up into the saddle, hence why I had begrudgingly taken Maggie. The mare was sweet and well behaved, which was not something that could be said for Ontario. The gelding was taking every advantage he had to be as disobedient as possible, starting and stopping as he pleased and tossing his head every time Lenny tried to give him direction. It was a blessing when we arrived at the station. I slid out of the saddle and winced as the dress’s bodice cut into my side.

             I stood stiffly, regarding the bustling train station, adjusting my skirts and trying not to think about all the teasing I had endured this morning. ‘Lady North’ this and ‘Lady North’ that and all the sarcastic bowing had been nauseating. It would all be worth it if we made it to Saint Denis uneventfully, but the cost to my pride was steep. I lifted my chin, adjusted my hat and followed Lenny over to where Lee stood leaned up against a wagon, puffing away at his pipe. He didn’t look up as we approached. “Good morning, outlaws.” He greeted us, sounding bored, “You’re late.”

             Lenny and I shared a look but made no comment. I knew he was being purposefully callous and had warned Lenny not to take any rudeness at face value. This was awkward and Lee wanted it over with. I stepped up to the wagon, inspecting the cargo as Lenny hitched the horses to the back. I gave Lee a sideways glance. “ _So what’s the precious cargo._ ”

            “ _You know the rules._ ” He replied, still not looking at me, “ _You don’t get to know_.”

            Three barrels were huddled in the corner at the front of the wagon. They had little holes poked in the sides. Upon closer inspection, I found the inside of the barrels to be lined with fabric. Curious, I rapped my knuckles against the side of the closest barrel, trying to see how hollow they were. A small knock responded from the inside, with more knocks echoing from the neighboring barrels. I smiled and placed my hand flat against the wood. “ _Will they need fed?_ ”

            Lee tapped ash out of the end of his pipe. “ _Just make it there by the evening._ ”

            Lenny stepped up, hands on hips. “Everything okay here?” He gave the man a hard look. “I hope you aren’t giving North here a hard time.”

            “No problems.” Lee said, tucking his pipe into his pocket.

            “Good.” Lenny said firmly and held out his hand, “Now if you’d kindly pay us, we’ll be on our way.”

            He finally looked up, scrutinizing us, but produced a money clip, inclining his head as he placed it in Lenny’s hand. “Safe travels, outlaws.”

            We watched him walk away and disappear through the station doors. “Well,” Lenny turned to me and held out his hand, bowing slightly, “Shall we be on our way, Lady North.”

            “Is this really how you want to start an hours long trip, Summers?”

            He just smiled and helped me into the passenger seat of the wagon. As we left town, heading south, I quickly realized how uncomfortable riding on a wagon was. It really wasn’t meant for ladies in dresses and nice shoes. I had to grip the seat so I didn’t slide around with every bump. Lenny was doing all he could to not laugh at me. “How long will it take us to get there?” I asked through gritted teeth.

            “Seven, eight hours at the most.” He raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

            “Just wondering.”

            “You’re act like you’ve never ridden in a wagon before.”

            We hit a rut and my teeth clattered together. My grip on the edge of the seat tightened, my knuckles turning white. “I haven’t.”

            He looked taken aback. “What?”

            I looked over at him. “I’ve never ridden on a wagon before, not like this. In the back, yes, but never on the seat.”

            “Right.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to the road, “You’ve probably ridden in carriages. I…”

            “I’ve never ridden in a carriage before, either.”

            “I’m not sure I believe you.”

            “I mean it. I’ve ridden horses and camels and trains, boats, air… ships. I’ve walked a lot of places but never ridden in a carriage or wagon.”

            “Airships?”

            “Travel of the future.” I said in an exaggerated transatlantic accent, giving him a flamboyant smile.

            “Airships.” Lenny shook his head, “You know, I heard them talking about horseless carts at the train station the other day.”

            I nodded. “The internal combustion engine is going to change the world.”

            “The what?”

            We spent the next couple hours going over how an engine worked. Lenny was astoundingly interested; fascinated by the scientific principles involved. Every question came in quick succession, testing my ability to explain things like the difference between a turbocharger and a supercharger and to remember when either was invented. By the time we reached Rhodes, we had exceeded my knowledge of mechanical inventions and the conversation had turned to books. “I mean, I don’t really get why Penelope waited,” he said, pulling the wagon to a stop in front of the stables, “I’m not sure Odysseus really deserved that kind of devotion.”

            I watched as he got down and circled around to help me down. “Why wouldn’t she? Under the guise of waiting, she maintained an independence she wouldn’t have had if she had remarried.”

            “She was in charge as long as Odysseus was gone, but if he was dead,” Lenny frowned, following along the train of thought as he took my hand, “She’d just be a widow, and she might be forced to remarry; nothing to protect her from all the weirdos congregating on her land.” I nodded silently and walked with him back towards our horses.

            “I would’ve never thought of that.”

            “The more places you go, the more people you meet, the more things you learn that you wouldn’t have thought of yourself.”

            Lenny chuckled, digging through his saddlebag. “Guess we’ll just have to convince Dutch that we need to broaden our horizons.”

            Laughing softly, I made my way towards the stable to get one of the hands to help us water the horses. As I returned with a one in tow, I found a man scrutinizing the wagon and cargo. He was well dressed in a pale suit, with a large Stetson and a spectacular handle bar mustache. Lenny followed him as he circled the wagon, visibly uncomfortable. A gold star on the man’s lapel caught the afternoon sun. I inhaled sharply; this wasn’t good. I stepped forward, intercepting the sheriff as he circled around Ontario and Maggie, eyeing up Ontario especially. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.” I said, politely, “Is there something I can assist you with?”

            He jumped back a step, startle by my sudden appearance. To his merit, he recovered quickly. “Just police business, ma’am. I must ask you move along.”

            I frowned, having hoped to be a bit more of a distraction, and watched as he turned to address Lenny. “This seems a mighty fine horse…”

            “He is a lovely horse, isn’t he?” I cut off the sheriff before he could finish, “Fine, strong, and very much mine.”

            The sheriff stiffened, freezing a moment before facing me again. “This is your wagon, then, miss?”

            “At the moment. It is on loan so I may transport certain items into Saint Denis.”

            “You?”

            “And my associate here.”

            He glanced back at Lenny, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops and shifting his weight from one leg to another. “You got any papers, miss?”

            “No papers for the wagon.” I said, giving him a side-eyed look as I stepped forward, reaching into my saddle bag, “But I do have these.”

            I handed over my passport and business card. He took them, unimpressed and glancing over at Lenny suspiciously. Arms crossed over my chest, eyebrow raised, I watched the sheriff’s lips purse and his face pale as he read my papers. I swallowed the satisfaction that welled up in my chest in favor of maintaining an icy exterior. The sheriff straightened; his lips pressed together in a thin line as if he might be sick and handed the papers back to me stiffly. “I am sorry for the… intrusion, Lady North. I was simply responding to a complaint.”

            The smile I gave him was sharp and calculated. “But of course, Sheriff, you were just doing your job. I’m sure you must work very hard to keep this little town lovely.”

            He relaxed slightly, regaining a little swagger, “We do our best here, ma’am. It is a gift to hear you call it lovely. I must say it is made lovelier by your presence.”

            It was like taking candy from a baby. Lenny’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but said nothing, the look on his face telling me that he wanted to see where I was taking this. “That is… very kind of you to say.” I said, allowing myself to blush and soften, “Perhaps, after I take care of business in the city, I will have to stop here again.”

            The sheriff brightened. “That… well it would be our pleasure to have you! My family, you see, owns the local saloon. If you are ever in need of lodgings here, I would happy to get you set up in the rooms there. Finest in Lemoyne, if I do say so.”

            “That is very kind of you to make an offer to a stranger.”

            “Oh, but you are no stranger, Lady North.” The sheriff straightened, lifting his chin confidently, “North is a well-known name around here. My daddy has done business with your father on several occasions.”

            “Well, I am glad to know that we are being of service to the good citizens of Lemoyne.” I sidestepped the sheriff, moving towards Lenny, “I am sorry to cut these pleasantries short, but we are expected in the city by the evening and this wagon does not move very quickly.”

            “Of course…” he followed as Lenny and I made our way towards the front of the wagon, “And, again, I do apologize for the… misunderstanding. You must understand, that sometimes we must be cautious about riff raff…”

            “I understand, Sheriff.”

            It took everything I had to maintain my smile and not to make some sharp remark. “Please, ma’am, call me Leigh. Leigh Gray.”

            “Leigh.” I repeated.

            “Perhaps there is some way I can make it up to you? I can offer the lad some money; I have a delivery that needs to be made to the police station in the city.”

            I stared at him for a moment, screaming internally at the thought that a job was somehow an apology. Then again... I glanced over at Lenny who gave the smallest of nods that let me know he was thinking the same thing: money. “I believe that would suffice, Sheriff.”

            His smile broadened. “Please, wait here a moment.”

            Lenny and I exchanged a soft laugh after the sheriff hurried out of sight. “You played that man like a fiddle.” He whispered

            I shrugged. “Personally, I think I’m better at playing an actual fiddle, but if we ever need to go to Rhodes again, I think we’ll be in luck.”

            “It’s really as easy as flashing a title?”

            “Well-to-do families always want to rub shoulders with the upper class; makes them feel more… fancy… vindicated. You saw him, nearly falling over himself as soon as he saw my name. They’re simple people. Mostly you just need to smile and nod, and then take stuff when they’re not looking.”

            “Amazing.”

            We straightened as the sheriff returned. Leigh came up to me, short of breath, carrying two envelopes and a magnolia blossom. He gave the envelopes to Lenny with instructions to deliver the one to the police station in Saint Denis. Then, he turned back to me, bowing slightly and offering me the blossom. “I hope that you may return soon, Lady North.”

            I took the flower, lifting it and brushing the petals against the tip of my nose. The scent was sweet and thick. I looked up at him through my lashes and caught his gaze, watching a blush rise in his cheeks. I could heard his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed hard. Perfect. “Perhaps, I shall.”

\-------------------

            The sun had sunk to hug the horizon as reached the railyard of Saint Denis. Tired, dusty and ready for a drink, I was not ready for the entourage that greeted us by one of the trains. Lee leaned against one of the railcars, smoking away at his pipe while two men loitered around looking bored. He looked bored, not evening turning to face me as I climbed down from the wagon and walked up to him. I held out a hand. “We’re here, on time, packages intact. Pay up.”

            Lee regarded me for a moment, tapping ash from his pipe. “I suppose.” He pulled an envelope from his waistcoat, “Leave the wagon and be on your way.”

            I took the envelope and gave him a hard look. Lee eyed us both suspiciously, waiting for us to unhitch our horses before nodding to his men. “Good evening, outlaws.” He called after us as we walked away from the railyard, heading further into the city.

            Neither of us looked back. “Is it always like that?” Lenny asked.

            I patted his shoulder and sighed. “Always.”

            The evening continued on in a blur of food, whiskey and hot baths. The highlight of it all was releasing myself from the confines of my dress. It had left angry red marks in my skin that by morning had turned into bruises. It served as a rude reminder that I was not built for 1890’s fashion. There was a sigh of content that I couldn’t hold back when I got to put on pants and a shirt. Descending the stairs, happy to be wearing riding boots, I was nearly blinded by the early morning sunlight that pierced through the windows. Lenny and I ate breakfast in a comfortable silence, both just happy to not be eating porridge or left over stew.

            It was early when we got to the marketplace, but it was already bustling. There was a lot of elbowing and apologizing to be had, but by the time we were pushing our way towards the door to the fence, all the items on our list were nearly crossed off our list. I sold off some of the old books I had found among Álvarez’s things as well as some other items the men had asked us to get a good price for. While I haggled with the fence over a price for a gold bracelet, Lenny perused the little dusty shop, picking out a hand mirror for Susan and some oleander extract for Charles.

            Then, suddenly he was at my elbow, putting something large and wooden on the counter, interrupting me and the fence. We all went silent and looked down. It was, of all things, a guitar. A little beat up and plain, but it was intact and had all it’s strings. I looked over at Lenny, who just gave me a small smile and a shrug. I turned back to the fence. “Bracelet for the guitar.”

            He pondered for a moment before giving in. “Fine.”

            The fence was followed up with a stop at the tailor shop, where both Lenny and I found ourselves failing to know which hat accessory was fashionable. I distracted the tailor with questions about shawls while Lenny picked out the ones that seemed the most in line with Karen’s tastes. I paid too much for a shawl for Abigail and Lenny shoved three or so hat accessories into his bag. We left the shop quickly, but without any direction. Neither of us were looking forward to the long ride back. “We could always take the train.” I offered as we meandered down a side street, making our way vaguely towards the police station.

            He shrugged, fiddling with Maggie’s reins as he walked. “We could, but I don’t know if it would be worth the money.”

            Lenny continued to weigh the options, but I had stopped listening. I’d stopped walking too. On the large store front window, ‘Walker Private Enterprises’ announced itself in gold and green paint. There were no lights on inside. The office was closed. I stared at the window, my mind racing as I simultaneously planned how I could break in and tried to argue myself out of the idea. It was closed; it would be so easy and yet… why bother? I looked over at Lenny, who was waiting for me a little ways down the road with an eyebrow raised in confusion, then back at the window. This was a choice.

            I turned and caught up with Lenny. “They’re closed.” I said before he could ask, “I’ll have to visit next time.”

            “Place you’ve been before?”

            “No. No.” I shook my head, “Just… a place I need to go eventually.”

            It was a little strange walking into the police station with Lenny. It didn’t seem lost on him that the last time we were doing something like this, I had been bailing him out. After a silent argument about who would take the lead, I stepped up to the clerk’s desk, smiling politely while Lenny hovered by the bulletin board. “I have a delivery from Sheriff Gray in Rhodes.”

            The clerk didn’t even look up and just took the envelope I held out with a tired sigh. “Thank you.” He mumbled.

             I hesitated, not sure if that was it, then took a step back. “Alright, then.”

            “Elaine.” Lenny beckoned me over towards the board and pointed towards one of the posters. “Look familiar?”

            I chuckled at the poor rendition of Arthur, but before I could say anything, the clerk spoke up. “I wouldn’t bother with that one. Meant to take it down. They brought that one in. Got the wire from Strawberry this morning.”

            “Really?” I asked, “They’re holding him there?”

            The clerk shrugged. “The warrant was for Strawberry, so I would only assume.”

            I glanced over at Lenny. “Thank you, sir.”

            I nearly shoved Lenny towards the door, all while still giving the clerk a smile. “No.” Lenny said firmly as we stepped outside.

            “No, what?”

            “We aren’t breaking Arthur out of jail.”

            I snatched Ontario’s reins from the hitching post. “And why not?”

            He gave me a hard look. “Because it’s a bad idea.”

            “No it’s not.” I scoffed, “It only took me and Arthur to get Micah out and…”  
            “Yeah, and why is it that Arthur is in jail, again?” Lenny cut me off, “Isn’t for, I don’t know, breaking someone out of jail? They’re going to be expecting it.”

            “What do you suggest then?”

            His eyes narrowed. “We’ll… We’ll take the train back to Valentine and tell Dutch. Let Dutch handle it.”

            “It’d be quicker to just take the train to Riggs and ride into Strawberry ourselves.” I gave him a confident smile, “Come on, Lenny, we could do it.”

            “No. We can’t. Let’s just let whoever Dutch is gonna send to handle it handle it.”

            I stepped in front of him, cutting him off. He looked down at me, unimpressed. “We. Can. Do. This. Think of how awesome it would be.”

            “Awesome really isn’t the priority here.”

            “He’ll owe you a favor. No one will be able to deny that you are just as strong and competent as him or Javier or Bill, or anyone else.”

            Lenny shook his head. I wasn’t getting at the right motivation here. I looked up at him with the best wide eyes I could conjure. “Don’t you wanna save Arthur?”

            He sighed. Lenny wanted to help Arthur; it was just the matter of getting him past his impulse for practicality. “I just don’t know if we could do it.”

            I turned and started walking towards the train station again. “Come on, Lenny. What is that Dutch is always saying? Have a little faith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time in between updates. Life has hit a little hard lately but I want to assure you all that I am 100% committed to this story. The next couple chapters should come out on a more regular schedule.  
> As always, comments are always appreciated. You can also find me on [tumblr](https://smithandrogers.tumblr.com/)  
> For anyone who is interested, I have also made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4aMlm8ropbDcanhaB99FaY) for this fic.


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